Guardian's Guide to the Screwups
by RogueTwister
Summary: The Guardians have temporarily halted Thanos from getting his hands on one of the six infamous yet cursed Infinity gems. Everything was falling into place for a while, until Anthony Stark and Bruce Banner create a window to "view" other planets, and what was meant to be a precaution turns into a door that opens up an entire galaxy itself of conflicts, questions, and relationships.
1. Collide

"What the hell are you doing?!" Pepper's three-inch heels managed to find a way to stomp their way to where the famous, prosperous and slightly insane Anthony Stark crouched with the proficient doctor Bruce Banner, who looked equivalent to a startled puppy wearing fragile but frayed glasses. Anthony, currently with his hands inside of what looked like a large, smooth tube-shaped object about the size of a double-decker refrigerator on its side. Sitting firmly above it was a fastened thin, black bar of some sort. It resembled a thin, pencil-width rectangular prism that stretched on either sides of the tube.

Anthony had his arms elbow-length plunged inside of it, apparently searching for something while Bruce fiddled with a screen showing an image of where his hands were inside of the container. However, it evaporated as he whipped around to face Pepper with reddening - cheeks as she strode in, eyes sharp, black suit and slacks that elegantly clung to her body.

"Nothing! Just, tinkering?" Tony attempted, nodding to Bruce expectantly to flip the screen back to life. Reluctantly, and rather embarrassed, Bruce obeyed, pressing a few LED buttons on the screen, murmuring to himself about getting in trouble for the upteenth time.

"Is that the...the - no! I thought I told you-" Pepper started, clutching a set of papers that were pressed onto a clipboard to her chest, glaring at the massive contraption in front of her. Tony sighed in exasperation, and replied dully, "I know you told me that this was a bad id-"

"Which it is-" Pepper nodded, flairing her hands at the contraption.

"But there is no reason to fear-" Tony continued, without taking a breath._  
_

"No reason to fear you ripping space and time to bring more aliens? Tony, you are really pushing-"

"Pulling, actually. I'm _pulling_ this wire because we wouldn't want more-" Tony mentally told himself he was going to win this "battle of counters", as he had many times before.

"Aliens knocking at our door? Yes, I thought that might happen when you mentioned doing this...this 'pet project of yours', which is why you should really stop pursuing to fashion this death trap of a toy!" Eyebrows furrowed, hair swishing, she stepped right next to the crouching Tony. Bruce shrunk into this corner behind the screen, and continued pretending he was being useful. Anthony yanked his arms out of the machine, cursing unintelligibly and stood fully to meet his CEO's stern gaze, which by now seemed to be permanently burned into her pointed face.

"I know what I am doing. How many times do I need to say this? I don't make mistakes." He argued, and backed up to take a sip of water that sat half-empty on a worktable near his right side. A long wrench sat next to his glass cup along with a few other tools that were halfheartedly placed around the workshop.

"I know that you are something of a genius and could probably invent a new _periodic_ _table_-" Pepper started, taking a deep breath and setting the papers down on the same worktable, careful to avoid the dirt on them.

"Damn straight I could-"

"But even for you, or for _anyone_ for that matter, this is dagnerous, and you shouldn't be messing with this area of science, Tony. You have never made something like this, and if you make a mistake, it's not like our tower can just be repaired from an explosion or-"

"Um, that was on you; distractions with so-called 'emergencies' involving conferences are not appreci-" He began defending with his black-stained fingers pointing at her, accusatory.

"Whatever physical damage happens." Pepper continued, shutting her eyes momentarily. "This window might encourage more aliens or worse creatures, and we don't even know-" Pepper's tight bun began to unravel at her ranting.

"Pepper." Setting down his glass, he finally shushed her with a gentle resting of his hands on her shoulders, careful not to smudge them with his dirt-smeared hands.

She quieted herself, eyes meeting his while her heart skipped a few beats. Whether it was from stress, or Tony's touch, she couldn't tell anymore.

"You worry too much. Relax. I have plenty of safety precautions and four eyes behind you to help me." Pepper looked confused for a moment, but didn't break eye contact. Bruce rolled his eyes, and simply sighed.

"Everything's under our control." He offered her a simple but adorable smile, and then turned back to Bruce, nodding once more to bring up the screen, along with an unexplained set of monitors that splashed behind his troubled, beloved woman.

Bruce glared, not fully appreciating the silent treatment of nods, but didn't argue as he complied once more, sighing.

The CEO could only search for confirmation in Anthony's eyes before closing hers once more, snatching her papers, and striding back to the door back upstairs to the elevator. Just before walking through the door, she turned and simply commanded in a tired, but concerned tone, "Just be careful, Tony. You're not a God." With that, she took her heels and clipboard with her, glancing one last time at his work, disgust and admiration overlapping in her eyes.

Tony stood still for a while, watching her go with a half-smirk and folded arms, urging her to continue on her full day.

"She worries _way_ too much." Turning, he quickly crouched back down, and dove his short arms back into the large, square-shaped hole that led into the colossal tube once more, studying the screen with the camera.

"I think she has a point, but we are both more than capable of handling this." He paused, then added, "I must say, your relationship skills are quite fascinating, my friend." Bruce spoke finally, and moved closer to Anthony, who was still staring at the screen. Tony replied bluntly, "Well, I learned from the best."

"And who is that?"

"Me." Bruce scoffed, and asked if Tony needed help. His response was cut off by a large series of crisp snapping that resonated from the tube. Tony grunted, and jerked his arms out, which seemed to attract more dirt. He looked at them with distaste, then turned to Bruce.

"Where did this stuff come from? I didn't even get out the WD-40." He wiped his hands on a nearby black towel that lay on the silver tube while Bruce chuckled, glimpsing at his own hands, which were clean. The camera monitor disappeared, and a small green light blinked to life on the ends of the black bar.

"Shall we go for a test run?" Tony asked.

"Maybe we should clean up all of this, uh...mess, first." Bruce suggested, grabbing Tony's used towels that were strewn all over the room. _Fire hazard_, he thought dully, and continued rapidly picking up other miscellaneous scattered around the work area. Tony lazily watched him, wondering why he even bothered. With a swish of his arms and hands, he ordered the screens away as they disintegrated under his command. Walking closer to his creation, he tapped it a few times, and then picked up a screwdriver that lay on the floor next to his foot. Tossing it at Bruce, who barely caught it, he then demanded, "JARVIS, fetch the others for me will you?"

"Shall I inform them of a specific reason, should they inquire?"

"Tell them I have a surprise."

"Sir, I doubt they will comply if you require me to relay the specific message" JARVIS replied in his crisp accent. Tony walked over to Bruce to help him briefly before retorting, "Just do it. I will lock them on separate room and activate the fire showers if needed. This is too brilliant for them to miss, wouldn't you say so, doctor?" Tony didn't wait for a reply as JARVIS complied.

"Sure." He sighed once again. Bruce hoped they would hurry; his fellow scientist was very close to turning that "window" on, and Bruce found it difficult to push back his nagging internal gut that continued to twitch inside of him in its own language.

It repeatedly stated rather uncomfortably, _this is a bad idea._

The clock read 7:23 am.

* * *

"WHERE IS THE AMMO GODDAMMIT?!" Rocket screeched, snaking his way up the towering shelves in the corner of Peter's ship, tail whipping back and forth.

"I hid them!" He shouted back from the left pilot seat, not bothering to turn around. Gamora sat on his right side, ignoring the bickering with a scowl on her face, as per usual. She focused on the controls in her hands with forced concentration.

_"WHY?!" _Rocket howled, tossing his gun on the floor while he searched the weapons area for the clips and magazines.

"For the _thousandth_ time Rocket: you don't need to have a _gun loaded_ in _my_ ship at any time!" He shouted, glancing at Gamora for support; she instead replied with silence, remaining stone-faced and neutral, though Peter could tell she agreed with a twitch of the corner of her lip.

"What kind of reason is that?!" The furry creature knocked down several of Peter's possessions and other objects as he gouged each corner of the entire room of everything in the confined air-and-space craft. Boxes and small various objects and toys fell to the floor in small heaps, and tipped over with the ships' movement.

Snarling viciously, a loud 'aha!' was heard from the back of the ship; a loud snapping and various clipping noises followed as Peter bashed a few buttons on the control panel with his two fingers, snapping at Gamora to take over the ship. She gladly complied, for she knew that Peter was not as graceful as he thought when he was piloting the ship in the first place, recalling the last time they headed for Xandar.

The team had been on a check-in with the planet, and the security agency that buzzed fluently and efficiently in its heart. The Nova-Prime insisted on the "checkups" every few months as a regulation precaution after the incident with Ronan two and a half years back. She was grateful to them and stern, but had insisted because she doubted it was wise to roam the galaxy without a base to resupply and other maintenance that the ship, weapons, or themselves might eventually need. In fact, the Nova Prime could not be more grateful. She felt that she owed the entire group her life, and that her service from Xandar was the least she could do for the rag-tag youngsters and a kind tree.

Although the team of companions got along well, there was always the more-than-occasional brawl over what seemed like the smallest of problems.

"For the third time, Rocket you can't have a loaded weapon! No one else but you is even caring about this!" Peter stomped his way through the small corridor that branched to the right, boots making thick rubber-on-metal 'clanks' towards the weapon-storage area. Physically, it was a small berth that Peter dubbed the "throw your shit here" place, which for most was a jacket or firepower of some kind. Eventually, Drax convinced Peter it should be more organized, if that is where the weapons are going to be piled into. He agreed, and now it was a coat storage and weapons arsenal that was almost comedic to walk into. However, at the moment, it was nothing but such.

"I require a loaded weapon because I'm skeptical of everyone, including this planet full of jack-turds that can't even see where they are stepping!" Rocket spat, slinging his too-large weapons over his shoulder. He distinctly recalls a few months ago when an elderly stepped on his smaller foot for the smallest moment that he was on the ground, and not on Groot's shoulders of circular, wide cranium.

"We've been here like, 50 times now, " Obviously exaggerating, the Lord of Stars countered heatedly, attempting to grab Rocket's firearm from him, lunging forwards, fingers outstretched, face screwed into an annoyed grimace. He missed, and earned a solid and swift bite on the wrist.

"Blech! You taste like shit!" Rocket retorted, and spat on the ground of the metal ship, the fluid stained with a slight tinge of red.

"Eugh-don't spit, Rocket! That is disgusting, and with millions of more years of you doing that this ship is going be soaked in that stuff!" Peter bellowed, face red with frustration. He lurched for the creature once more, but Rocket slide underneath him, scrambling much like a cat to the ceiling, clinging to the thickly protected wires and handles, escaping quickly, a snicker clearly plastered onto his face, weapon in hand. Peter refused to pursue him and give Rocket the satisfaction he constantly craved.

"Gah! Son of a..." Peter sucked on his wound, and marched back to his seat, past Drax, who had just woken up from all of the screaming and slamming; he had fallen asleep on their start to Xandor hours ago. Blinking, he watched sleepily as Peter slumped down into the main pilot seat, pouted, and then slammed his fist on the buttons again, completely disregarding Gamora's slight chuckle and the sense of the requirement of a seat belt.

Sitting behind Gamora was Groot, who had fastened himself onto a handlebar near the exit of the ship by the winding of his thick, green and brown branches, as he was too large to keep balance or sit in a chair, much like the one Drax was nestled in. He sneezed, and a spew of small leaves drifted from his two holes of a nose, and he blinked a few times, gazing at his arms as he always did when he was bored, and breifly wondered if he could simply grow a few apples or lemons.

"Why can't that little shit just frickin' let. It. Go?" Peter complained grumpily, eyebrows furrowed, hands clenching the steering rod in a death grip. He exhaled angrily, teeth ground together almost into stubs by now.

"Maybe you could solve the problem by _requesting_, not demanding. He isn't _all_ that careless, and he is just cautious, just like all of us." Gamora reasoned sincerely, and glanced at her own knives that were strapped in various areas around her body.

"Hmph. _Requesting_," Slightly in a mocking tone, Peter argued, " that arsenal-addicted, crazy little rat is not even comprehensible to him."

"Are we almost there?" Drax grumbled, now fully awake and aware of what just happened, yet again. He clenched and unclenched his fists. He was starving, and Groot turned his head as well, hoping to hear of a fountain he could drink from.

"Yeah." Peter huffed, and sighed as he angled the ship towards the island where the Nova Prime would be waiting patiently, hair whisked into some wicked shape, guards contentedly attending her authority-heavy presence. The ship finally broke the planet's atmosphere, and began its steady descent. Within minutes, the _Milano_ would land on the monumental landing area that sat like a concrete deck above the Nova's main entrance.

"I think you two just need to come to terms with each other, rather than having screaming, child-like fits that resemble what it feels like to be in a nursery." Gamora explained again, and pressed a few buttons on the control monitor once more, helping Peter aim the ship.

"I tried, remember?"

"You mean when you 'accidentally' shot him in the shoulder, claiming that 'that is what happens when we carry loaded firearms in a small ship'? Yes, that worked quite well, as I can recall." Gamora flashed back to the incident, remembering the unpleasant situation Peter shoved everyone into. He stole Rocket's gun and "pretended'' to drop it, hoping it would fire _away_ from everyone's feet and scare them into making Rocket give up his dangerous requirements. Unfortunately, in his near-fatal mistake, it landed towards them and caused a small bullet to land in the miniature creature's left shoulder during his so-called "presentation".

It was nothing serious; Rocket screeched, and nearly killed Peter in the next second, grabbing the weapons and aiming it at his own shoulder in an attempt to get back at Peter. It made most of them laugh, except Rocket of course, but it still had been a dangerous stunt that left Peter feeling somewhat guilty, but still fed his annoyance and heat towards Rocket's standards of weapons. It was an early trip to Nova, as the ship had needed quite the repair after that.

"It would have work, if I had-"

"Thought it through more? Yeah. I figured." The assassin scoffed, and Peter simply continued to pout. Today sucks, he thought irritably.

"I am Groot." The gentle tree grumbled. Drax's stomach growled, and Gamora guessed it was because of hunger that everyone was a little on-edge. She turned and saw Groot begin munching on his own leaves again near his knees and elbows, the faint crunching sound reaching her sharp ears.

"I know! That is why we are-" He was interrupted by something that caught his eye. Rocket clambered down, a newly-attached strap that he quickly fashioned to help secure the weapon onto his body. He hissed at Peter as he leaned against Groot's large arm, picking something out of his teeth as he sat down near the tall tree's head.

But Peter was unaware of the hiss; he was focused on what looked like a clear, rippling wave of some sort. It look much like thick, wide pieces of glass bacon, waving and surging just where the ship was pointed at. It blanketed where they usually landed, and it wasn't moving.

"What is that?" Gamora inquired, concern creased in her green forehead as she leaned forward slightly, her hair falling from her toned shoulders.

"Maybe if you put some glasses on ya' boyfriend, he might be able to see better." Rocket cracked, spitting something on the ground, near Groot's right thigh-branch.

"I don't know, but I don't want to-" He was abruptly cut off, because the bacon-glass rapidly moved towards them, like a flying net that wanted to capture them, and the two pilots were not expecting such.

"Wha-!?" Peter exasperated. Despite his slumped attitude, he started to 180 the steering console, but he was too late. He underestimated the speed of the rippling apparition.

He began fumbling with his seat belt.

Groot saw the apparition before Rocket, and eyes widening, he snatched the Raccoon-like animal. Rocket protested with a bark of questions as to why the tree grabbed him so suddenly, but he too was cut off. Drax gripped his seat and shouted at Peter and Gamora, but they could not hear them.

They both lost control, and a blaring groaning sound rumbled through the ship, and sparks flew in the cabin. The thunderous groan got louder as the clear-bacon strips slammed into the ship, engulfing it whole. The whole ship went pitch black, and a loud screeching and tearing noise was followed by a forceful jerking from side to side. It was as if a large monster had roared in the face of the vehicle, and then growled with them inside of its throat while it jumped up and down. The jerking and what felt like spinning combined with the noise because a dangerous blender of noise that drowned out the guardian's screams.

It also immersed the sound of Peter's body slamming into nearly everything. His seat belt was not on, and he was suffering heavily from the previous decision made in arrogance. He slammed into the wall behind everyone with a stiff 'thump', and then managed to tumble back into the narrow hallway that branched. His weight made a decent indent, but then he rolled to the right, where the weapons sat. Luckily, Rocket only loaded his personal one, and empty guns and sheathed long knives rained on him as he was thrashed about the small area. Peter barely inhaled as he attempted to curl into some sort of ball to protect his head, but to no avail.

His skull smashed into the ceiling, and his vision blurred. He cursed, but was slammed into the corner of the coat-space, knocking him out cold.

The ship was still dark as it seemed to be spiraling out of control in no where, but all of a sudden, the ship nosedived into what looked like a larger version of the island of the Nova headquarters, and they were headed for a large green rectangle of some sort, the ship completely out of control as Gamora began to panic.

Light finally filled the cockpit, and the others remained mostly unharmed and none of them had time to process that damage that was down on each other, or the entire ship itself, Gamora regained herself, and quickly reacted.

Shoving the worry behind of losing her co-pilot, with more force and conviction, the assassin tackled the controls once more. Yanking with all of her might, she tried to level the ship, and avoid the chaotic hysteria that was rising at the thought of slamming into the ground. Shouting in frustration, and ignoring Rocket and Drax's shouts of advice, she jabbed her fingers into a series of buttons that glowed above her. They read, "Emergency use only: one-use brake." She cursed, and pulled the final lever that activated the lower brake-jets of high-speed propulsion. The ship came to a stomach-sickening slow, and in a whirlwind of panicked humans scattering below, the ship managed to level itself several feet from the ground, a deafening rumble coming from below as what sounded lke bombs released themselves from the ship.

Gamora flipped the lever once more, and the ship dropped heavily into the green grass of the large rectangle they crash-landed in.

Gamora breathed heavily, and sat back in the chair with a grunt. She blew her hair from her face, and unbuckled with strangely steady hands. _This can't be happening. Where are we?_ She thought, groaning as she rose from her seat. She felt dizzy, and somehow heavier than normal, as if a set of bricks were set upon her shoulders, and were implanted into her stomach. Swaying slightly, she croaked, "Rocket?" Groot was still on the ground, fastened to the handle, though he seemed to have made more that grasped almost anything attached to the ship securely: handles to locked storage places, various pipes and wires above him, and Drax's seat. His branches were surprisingly undamaged, despite a few splinters and cracks along his shoulders. Groot let a large bump on his leg unfold, and a gasping Rocket slid out like a fat slug.

"Urg...what...the hell just happened? I knew Peter was a bad navigator, but _man_..." Rocket shook his head while checking his gun, and then looked up at Groot, who offered a weak smile. Groot retracted his branches, which were also wrapped around Drax for more support, who was now unbuckling as well. He slowly moved over to Gamora, who was blinking rapidly, and looking confused.

She still felt heavy, as if gravity was pulling on her tightly. Drax suddenly felt it too, and while Rocket and Groot stood as well, he asked, "Do you feel that?" He swayed, a little off-balance, and studied his hands, as if they had the answer.

"Yeah...where is Peter?" Gamora's mind shifted. Everything was forgotten. The spluttering sparks that began to sprinkle the cockpit like snow-fire were forgotten. Her "heaviness side effect" of some sort was ignored. Her rats' nest of hair was brushed aside, and her legs began to move once again. They all made their way past deep cracks of the ship that snaked their way down the hull, and into the branched - off spaces. Drax and Rocket moved into the left opening, and Groot and Gamora nearly ran into the right opening. Gamora sucked in a shaky breath when she saw Peter.

Splayed like a large ragdoll, he was slumped up against he far wall of the weapons cache, various objects littered around him like trash. Blood trickled like a leaky faucet down his nose and onto his red, leather jacket, and his left hand was smeared in his own blood as well. His right leg was bent at an awkward angle, and a knife was implanted halfway into the side of his pelvis, where more crimson dripped at a steady rate onto the metal floor of the ship.

Groot got there faster than Gamora could, but only because of his longer legs. He stuck his face in front of Peter's, and sniffed two brisk sniffs. Looking back at Gamora, she expectantly glared at him, searching for an answer. He nodded slowly, and she felt a wave of relief wash over her.

But it was quickly interrupted by someone slamming on the front pilot window in a rushed fashion.

"Please tell me you're not making out back there!" A metallic voice called from outside, and was followed by another pounding on the thick glass.

As Drax stepped out to investigate, he was greeted with a man-shaped creature who appeared to be covered in some type of armor, and anoter man-shaped figure with a strange circular, metal shield of some sort with bright colors. He growled, and ran straight for the window, footsteps shaking the entire, tempest-tossed ship.

* * *

**This is not a one-shot. I plan to continue this story.**


	2. Divide

"Tony, this better be good. I was in the middle of-" Natasha spat, pulling her hair into a loose ponytail. She was wearing her casual wear of SHIELD attire that consisted of dark jeans, classic thick leather combat boots, a green tee and a compact windbreaker. Clinton was wearing nearly the same thing, except he wore black cargo pants and kept his dark sunglasses perched on the top of his thick, brown hair. He sported a dark blue t-shirt under his own storm-grey windbreaker, muscular arms folded against his chest.

Thor was nowhere to be seen; departing for Asgard on an urgent matter, he had been transported back several days before under the direct demand of Odin himself, his father. Steve was leaning against the wall behind all of them in the tempest-tossed workshop, staring at what Anthony was currently resting his hand on as Bruce pressed a few translucent buttons on the always-running-diagnostics screens that Steve still managed to get headaches from; he was often required to stare at them for long periods of time when residing in the tower. In fact, Director Fury resorted to giving him hard copy files every once in a while to save him the eye-strain whenever the soldier's service was needed, despite his encouragement to "catch-up with the world".

"Yeah, don't care. Listen, ever since New York's birthday bash of Loki's infiltration of our _beloved_ planet," he interrupted, patting his silver worm of an invention, and gesturing to the city through the window behind him. Natasha scowled, and Clint sighed, already getting impatient as Tony stepped forwards slightly.

"I have created this..." he turned to Bruce, who urged him continue, clearly already prepared to turn on the machine, as was everyone else. Tony paused, and then switched gears, declaring abruptly, "Ah screw it. Doctor?" He nodded, and Bruce typed a few commands into the computer-screen with a keyboard that sat conveniently under his calloused hands.

The lights dimmed and Tony stood back and gestured to the glass window to where the tube sat parallel to, as if it was a second layer of glass. The black bar displayed a grey, thin hue of what looked like organized dust particles.

Albeit the dull appearance of the screen itself, what happened next was unexplained, and the Avengers never thought they could assemble faster afterwards.

They all sucked in a deep breath as a ship of some origin was projected. It was striped with bright orange wings that matched the main body; it was colored in fantastic grey and silver shades, as if it had been born from a futuristic film itself, and was heading nose-first for the screen like a horror scene where some large object was about to crash into the audience. It was amazing, and just as Steve was about to ask if "that was a genuine flying spaceship" until Tony pressed a button that corresponded to the window zooming in like a camera, apparently confused.

Bruce scrambled to the window, but was too late. He shouted at Tony to "don't do that!", but that damage was done; taking his hands off in a child-like manner, the screen projected what looked like the same spaceship heading straight for central park back on Earth. It wasn't until everyone realized that Bruce had already shut off the device, and it was literally _nosediving_ into the park. Everyone froze, too stunned to move, but not to watch and process.

The ship seemed out of control, and about to blow up and flash-execute hundreds of people at once in the most popular park in the city of New York, until a white and blue series of jets seemed to slingshot and backfire the dreadful incoming impact of the entire ship seconds before hitting the ground. As soon as it dropped, settled, and the dirt and dust cleared somewhat, Tony turned around, but was already behind as the whole Avengers team were already galloping downstairs to what Tony affectionately called the "Suit-up" space. The Captain slipped into his, Ironman into the Mark 42, and the two master assassins snatched their weapons that hung next to the various marks and suits on the north wall of the man Avenger's tower entrance.

"Let's party." Tony said as he was the first to fly out towards the park with Steve clinging for his life on his arm, two rumbling black SHIELD vehicles racing after them.

When they arrived. Tony and Steve embraced what looked like the hull of the ship first; Steve held his shield up to his upper body carefully, expecting a fleet of Chitauri to fly at him, Tony with his shoulders tight for impact, expecting enemies of some sort to do something along the same lines. He held back the memories of his trip to outer space, and the near-death experience it had been.

"JARVIS, give me some love." Tony commanded lightly.

"There seems to be various forms of life in the space vessel, sir."

"Various?" Eyebrows raised.

"There are more than one kind of alien species. I am currently able to identify one half-human, and a plant of some unknown origin, sir."

"Awesome. You get that?" Tony questioned a little louder for Steve, and he silently nodded as they cautiously stepped forward.

Just as they were inches from the front of the window, they were greeted with a massive, grey and red-outlined and bald alien that seemed to appear out of a negative space in the interior body of the ship. Its growl was not heard due to the thick glass, but the massive strides it took to begin charging at them shook the entire front of cockpit as it began throwing its arms forward for momentum, teeth bared with what looked like a knife in its hands.

* * *

"No! Stop!" Rocket pulled Drax back as hard as he could, using his claws even to drag him back into where Groot was. Rocket caught a glimpse of the two outside, and grimaced, continuing to wrench the massive alien back.

"Wait, just wait! We need to help Peter, you idiot! Let me deal with this for a second!" Drax glared at his leg where Rocket was clung to.

"Why? They are most likely our enemies!" Drax spat, attempting to stare down the two men outside the ship's window.

"Just go! We have priorities and they can't get in this damned ship unless _you_ break the glass and let them in like parasites!" He lashed back, teeth gleaming, claws still extended, but void of Drax's right, muscular leg.

"They are parasites?"

"Wha-? No, just go and help Peter!" Drax hesitantly obeyed, huffing, as he threw one last death-stare at the still figures outside with pure disgust.

Rocket wiped the sweat off of his brow, and didn't watch Drax stomp quickly to where Peter lay, partly out of fear for what he might look like. Instead, he clambered up to the pilot seats, stepping on the microphone button in the center of the sea of buttons, switches, and levers that minutes ago were under Peter and Gamora's complete control.

"Listen up you meat-heads! We are not here to kill anyone _yet_, but if any of you get your soppy brains full of any kind of idea to get any closer, I will shoot you so full of lead that the laws of matter would be defied; in other words, you will be completely destroyed! Back off and stay away from us, or be killed instantly." Rocket screeched into the microphone, almost enjoying himself, but silently praying that they would comply, and not shake the ship like a stolen wallet to try and force them out.

The truth was, he was just a little scared. They had landed on yet another alien planet, and none of the Guardians knew what would happen next. Would they try to separate them, or worse, execute them for "trespassing" of some kind? None of the Guardians wanted to take the chance, so Rocket figured that threatening would work better than nothing.

* * *

"Did that _Raccoon_...just talk to us?" Steve pointed at the cockpit, shield still guarded. Tony just stared, and replied, "Huh. I'll be damned." Steve kept looking at where the spot the animal had just spoke about something regarding the laws of matter. He was too startled to process what the Raccoon was saying., as was Tony, who eventually let the words sink in.

Steve switched his gaze of studying to the ship, Tony, and then back to where the creature had stood seconds ago. _Was that really a raccoon? _Steve and Tony thought nearly simultaneously.

The two assassins arrived shortly after, weapons out, the car doors slamming. People began to gather around the area of the crash, and Bruce urged them back as he glanced at the action. Clinton ran towards the hull with his bow armed and aimed with deadly precision, more tense than ever as Natasha drew her pistols out with lightning speed. Steve gesture for him to not shoot. The archer nodded.

"Relax, a Raccoon just told us to stand-by." Tony stepped back, beginning to walk around the ship, swiftly creating digital walls to block the people, eyeing the Hulk's anxiety over pushing the people back into the outskirts of the park in human form, but strong tones. He advised that Clinton remain at the window, weapon ready, but to not shoot on sight.

"Director Fury is aware, but unable to physically arrive. He is still in a board meeting on the other side of town." Clinton quickly informed over the team's personal communicators that nestled in everyone's ears.

Dropping the devices that contained and activated the physical-digital boundaries, he jogged back over to the ship, beginning to eye its external features and the intense damage that had been done to it. Tony pressed a button that was remotely attached to the boundaries, and all cellphones, video cameras, and other recording devices that were around had been temporarily forced to shut down. The Director insisted he use it to help keep the "common people" at bay with the associations of aliens and other worlds, and Tony was suddenly grateful for it. The other Avengers began to walk around the ship, assessing as well while Tony explained what might have happened.

"I hardwired the damn thing to _view_ the most human-like planet up-close and where the most of those human-like humans were currently gathered, and it was supposed to only be a viewing tool as a security precaution." Tony scanned the outside of the heavily-armed ship, and was easily impressed. It was clear the tanker could take a beating. However, he noted internally that this also meant it was prepared for battle, and more than likely loaded with weapons of all sort that could blow them all up at any second, assuming they could still salvage any power.

"Then why did it bring in this entire spaceship?!" Natasha demanded, now scoffing at his invention, anger boiling. _How could Anthony do this without any sort of permission? _She heatedly thought to herself, grip tightening on her pistols as she occasionally stole a glance at Clinton; she didn't want him to suddenly be toppled by some stupid alien, and then possessed once more. She shivered, refocusing her attention.

"It must have just been turned the other way. Away from the people, and towards the sky or something. I don't know, but whatever it is, it wasn't meant to work on the _first_ try; this was just a test-tun, wasn't it?" Tony defended, slightly guilty that he had put everyone in the park in danger, and had caused yet another invasion of some sort. _What a bunch of grumpy grumpertons,_ Anthony Stark observed, but kept it to himself.

"Yes, but we probably should have tried something a little different than just turning it on." Bruce answered, putting on his better glasses to observe the back of the ship with the others, the walls blocking the massive hoards of people from coming any closer. The gamma radiation doctor shuffled closer to the ship, and he too felt slight responsible for this. However, he was becoming more and more excited. _This doesn't look _anything_ like the Chitauri ship_...He thought curiously, anxious to meet what "life forms" were inside that Tony mentioned earlier.

"Did you foresee something like this happening, doctor?" Steve inquired, never taking his gaze off of Bruce, and trying very hard not to demand that everyone back away from the ship. _Couldn't this thing be covered in unsafe substances from other worlds? Unsafe bacteria? Shouldn't it blow up?_ He pondered, worry and a slight panic sprouting in his chest, although he didn't see any fire, which was strange, given the jets that had activated to keep the ship from crash-landing completely.

"Uhh..." Bruce stuttered, suddenly uncomfortable in the unpleasant spotlight. He began to sweat.

Everyone turned to look promptly at him, except Clint, who stood guard at the window-area, but even the highly-trained asset was keeping an sharp eye on him. His ear-piece suddenly became his best friend. _What kind of trouble have we gotten into now?_ He wondered with a heavy dread, ears pricked for Bruce's response.

"Well, I uh...sort of? I am not going to lie; I did have a bad feeling in the beginning, but I was sure that Anthony and I were _completely_ accurate in our calculations, modifications, and adjustments. I honestly didn't know what was going to happen." Bruce answered truthfully. Although his gut had nearly stabbed itself in relaying the message over and over in the last few days, Bruce simply thought it was just a side effect of building any new project that involved non-humans and telescopes to space. _This is really inconvenient and it's only 8 am on a goddamned _Monday_ morning..._Bruce internally complained.

"Then how did you know that Tony shouldn't have messed with it when we saw the ship the first time?" Clinton spoke over the communications system.

"That was my gut again?" Bruce weakly offered.

"God - you're telling me this now?" Tony snapped, his face-mask also "snapping" up, as if it agreed. A little bent out of shape, Tony was about to throw a fit when movement was heard in the ship.

And then screaming.

* * *

"Peter?" Gamora nudged the blood-soaked co-captain a few times on the shoulder, unsure of where to strike him first. He didn't stir, but exhaled briefly.

* * *

_Why is everything inside of me on fire?  
__Where are we?  
__My side really burns...__  
__Did Drax just throw me into the wall?  
__Gamora is going to kill me...  
__Mix tape...broken...letter...  
I am going to kill Rocket._

* * *

Peter was unresponsive as Drax snapped a few times near his ears and in his face while Rocket nudged his possibly-injured leg.

"Rocket!" Gamora seethed, and pulled Peter's head up to help him breathe.

"Peter Quill!" She demanded him to open his eyes. She was not unaware of what happens when a ship loses control and one is not buckled. She was especially not unaware of what happens when Peter becomes reckless, and tries to act all heroically, and nearly gets himself and everyone else killed.

"I don't think he is going to awake himself. We must find for him medical attention quickly." Drax stated what was fearfully in the back of everyone's minds. _If we can find it_, Drax didn't add out loud.

"But what about the others outside? How do we know if they are friendlies or foes?" Rocket asked, ears pricked for any movement outside that would suggest infiltration or breaking-in of any sort. _I swear, if they even _touch_ this ship..._

"I am Groot." Gamora peeked out of the small berth they were all cramped in, and there was a man with a bow and arrow who was wearing dark clothing, and had his weapons loaded, but not aimed. She blinked a few times, focusing her eyes on him for a few moments before addressing the team.

"It doesn't look like they intend on attacking. That man out there hasn't shot at assaulted us, and if you said there were other men Drax, then that means they must have backed off somewhere." She concluded, backing away from Peter, glancing at his gathering-pool of blood beneath him.

"Or they are getting weapons and reinforcements to blow the ship up! Am I the only with common sense on this piece of shit?" Rocket retorted back as he pushed Groot back, who was growing more and more concerned by the minute, and not just of the Peter.

"He needs more space." Gamora concluded, and backed up. "I have an idea."

"Oh great, the _assassin_ has an idea. Please tell me it's just that we kill them all and then leave." Rocket rebutted, folding his arms and stepping away from Peter along with everyone else.

"No. We don't know what or who is out there, or if this planet is evolved enough to even have developed the parts we require for getting this thing to establish any type of communication, let alone get off of the ground." Gamora explained as quickly as she could, noticing Peter's lack of movement.

"She is correct. We must find Peter the help he needs, the supplies required to make the ship functional enough to tell the Nova Prime what has happened, and then have concern over other things." Drax supported, which he was rewarded with a grateful glance from Gamora.

"Oh, _now_ look who is so smart all of a sudden? What happened to bombard first, think later?" Rocket accused, spinning around to Drax, who was heavily frowning. They both hated being in these types of situations, being stuck with no choice and surrounded by potential enemies. It created a rooted sense of dread in both individuals.

"It was true that it was unwise previously, but I merely wanted to frighten the unknown into at least retreating." He admitted.

Suddenly, Gamora had yanked out the ten-inch knife that had drove itself into Peter's side of his pelvis. He awoke, and shrieked, a blood-curling wail that was only of pain. Gamora dropped the knife out of fright, and surprise that was only of the horror of her co-captain. Peter awoke with more a deep gasping and spluttering sound, and blinked a few times, obviously unaware of what Gamora had done.

"Sfurt...gack..."He tried to shake his head, but after a nauseating wave of a headache on steroids threatened to pull him under, he settle on not moving.

"Peter," Gamora knelt down to his eye-level, attempting to get through his glazed-over eyes and expression.

"Peter, you were hit on the head during the crash. We have no idea where we are, but we are going to get you help. Just...eyes on me, okay?" Gamora tried to be clear and concise, but she was starting to panic. She only needed him awake for a few moments so she could tell him to resist falling asleep forever. Blood was continuing to drip, and she was considering shaking his shoulders to keep him awake, to keep his blue orbs focused on her.

"Peter?"

"Sfff..." He gurgled, and his head drooped once more, a small amount of yet more blood falling from his pale lips.

The room suddenly became far too intense for any guardian to stand by. Gamora and the others had had enough, and with a swift nod from Gamora, Groot scooped up Peter, using his arms to coil a loose, cocoon-shaped shield for him, as Groot stood fully, head banging slightly on the ships's ceiling. Peter's deep moans of his agonizing pain only made the Guardians' hair stand on end as they all looked at each other with one thought.

_We are going out to face whatever awaits, fight like hell of we need to, salvage Peter, and to get out of this shithole._

* * *

Groot grew broader shoulders and wider legs for support. Rocket climbed onto his shoulder, weapon loaded. Gamora led the way with Drax at her side as they formed a small blockade in front of Peter. Their minds witched to battle and strategy mode, and as they moved closer to the window, Gamora pressed a button near her pilot seat that sent the window shooting upwards in a snapping fashion. She mentally grimaced at the seat she previously sat in not minutes ago, completely under control and content with her life. She used it to fuel whatever may come next, whether it be an intense battle or a tedious mind-game of talking their way out of the area to medical aid.

They stepped out, and received a full 360 degree view of where they were. The ground was soft and green as Drax and Gamora were briefly reminded of how heavy they seemed. Rocket growled around at the blue sky, light-brown skinned creatures that ogled at them, and the five figures standing at a precarious but cautious distance from them.

For a fragment of a moment, there was a sizing up of each Avenger to each Guardian, and each Guardian to each Avenger. Shield to tree, armor to bow, weapon to pistol, and so forth. No one breathed, and no one flinched in fear of anxiety.

"Where have you come from?" Natasha, still inflated with heated anger from Tony's stunt performance was the first to speak, not waiting for the air to become any thicker.

Pistols raised at Rocket, who seemed the most dangerous, she waited expectantly. _Do they speak-_she started to wonder, but her thoughts were completely cut off.

"I dunno toots, what about you?" The raccoon respond. Although taken aback, she didn't lower her weapons, and neither did he. The response was almost humorous, despite the situation.

Bruce stood staring at the towering tree behind them. _Is that a real tree?_ He pondered incredulously, gazing wondrously at the breathing, blinking plant.

"Okay, let's all just calm down. None of us want to kill the other, so let's just set the weapons down." Captain American reasoned, raising his hands, and slowly putting his shield on his back holster. He met the eyes of each Guardian, slightly pausing on the green woman. _Damn_, he internally processed, but careful not to seem prying of her strong figure.

"Why should we? How do we know that you won't kill us from above, or send reinforcements to execute us?" Gamora spat back, clearly not taking his harmless gesture. Her knuckles were turning a lighter shade of green as she grasped her knives even harder, her mind processing how to separate his shield from his body, pull his head off, then slam into the man with the bow-

"Because we are a team and a family, like you?" Bruce suggested carefully, figuring the team was not likely all together by accident. Looking the least-threatening without a suit of weapons as he stepped forward. His actions were contradictory to his words as Gamora stiffly turned herself towards him, position warning like a snake about to strike. Drax moved closer to Peter as he was prepared to begin fighting, fearing that Rocket was too small to protect him despite his never-ending fury.

"Hey, hey whoa...just take it easy. I promise, no one is here to wipe your pretty green skin off the face of the Earth, 'kay?" Tony stepped out of his suit completely, but didn't move forward, taking her earlier hint to Bruce.

"Earth?" Drax asked, speaking for the first time. He glanced at Gamora quickly, and a realization dawned on them all in an instant. Even Groot's branches creaked as he bowed his head to who he was holding.

Peter shifted himself in Groot's arms, and it was heard by everyone as the sound of leaves rustled.

Clint caught the subtle eye contact, and inquired loud enough for everyone, "You have been here before?"

The guardians silently wondered if they should tell the truth, but they needed an explanation because time was running out. Rocket spoke before Gamora.

"We have heard of it, and _maybe_ we know someone who is from here." He dropped his large firearm just an inch as Clinton loosened his grip on the arrow that had been aimed at Drax's head the whole time.

It seemed the two differing teams had one connection that kept their pre-determined hatred at bay, and the Captain saw then strangled his chance.

"If you know us and don't have any hostilities with us, then there is no reason for us to be disputing. Everyone, please just relax. There are no politics, no hidden weapons or armies; it's just us." He articulated, heavily injecting his firm voice into the still-heavy air.

"And every tourist who is in the damn park or in a nearby apartment." Tony bitterly added quietly, eyeing the massive tree, who seemed to be cradling something. All heroes dropped the weapons, but kept them rigidly in hand. The arrow still nocked, the pistol still loaded, and the knife still in hand.

"How far did you appear from?" Natasha asked.

"From a planet called Xandar, several galaxies distant from this one." Drax answered. He heard a small dripping noise, and did not need to turn around to comprehend and recognize that Peter was continuing to bleed out. His crimson fluid was beginning to stain the grass as well as Groots' arms.

"I am Groot." The Avengers exchanged agreeing looks at each other, and deciding that their space-invaders were not a high-priority threat, they stored their firearms and force away from sight.

"We need medical attention. One of our pilots is severely injured. Does your planet have anything that can cure internal bleeding, abrasions, and broken bones?" Gamora asked, stepping forwards as if to test the waters. Natasha and her met eyes, and for a moment there was a brief exchange of sympathetic gazes, each wondering what each had experienced as a female weapon and asset.

"Of course. We are not animals." Tony retorted, and stepped back into his suit keeping his face-shield up.

"Tell you what. No weapons, no punching or kicking and we'll take care of your pilot-man. You follow us and we'll regroup afterwards to discuss the insane amount of damage back at our home. Deal?" He reasoned, holding out his hand to them, Avengers in tow but not following his actions.

Gamora turned back to the others, and they nodded. Groot stepped slowly in front of Drax to stand in front Gamora, staring at Tony for directions, black beads for eyes waiting expectantly. Peter's blood was now seeping from his arms like a leaking bag of ice water.

Gamora blinked at the hand, and then shook it, recalling what Peter had told her years ago about when people met, or agreed on something. Pushing the unpleasant-at-the-moment memory out of her head, she motioned for Drax to move forward as well.

"Deal. Now show us where we can fix our idiot of a pilot." Rocket demanded, gun strapped to his back but teeth baring. He remained clinging to Groot's shoulders, head whipping form each Avenger as he attempted to pinpoint their weaknesses. _Woman, lack of ammo, not enough firepower, too small of a shield..._

"Um..." The Avengers stared at the silent tree, and then at the blood, curiosity burning their throats as to what or whom it was carrying. Ignoring the urges quickly, Tony declared he was going to prepare the tower for "our space buddies", and abruptly left, scaring Groot and the Guardians nearly out of their own suits. Clinton and Natasha motioned for Drax and Gamora to get in the vehicles; Gamora went with Clinton, and Drax barely fit inside of the black vehicle to slide in with Natasha. Natasha informed Rocket that there would be a van shortly to pick up Groot and him, but Rocket protested.

"Our pilot needs help now! I'm not going to wait for some _moron_ to take us. We'll run there!" Before he could start tapping on Groot's head to follow his words, Gamora shouted as she was beginning to slip into the car, "No! They can all come with us. " She was rewarded with Clinton's unseen glare at her, but didn't want to start a brawl in the already-strained moment as it was.

Groot gently laid Peter in the back of the extra Sudan that had followed the original two in case captivity was required. Groot managed to shrink himself to half-size, but was still larger than Drax, and required both of the back leather seats. He didn't wear a seat-belt and Peter was placed in the back. Rocket squeezed into the front seat with Gamora and Clinton, and the uncomfortable and too-close for comfort journey to the Avengers tower began.

"I guess we get to walk." Bruce stated with a sigh as he and Steve watched the vehicles speed away, and they jogged to the sidewalk, calling a taxi in the process.

* * *

The ride was short, but felt like hours for Guardian and Avenger alike. Rocket was unusually silent himself, and no one dared to speak or even make an awkward attempt at any type of small talk.

When they arrived, all members of each diverse family regrouped in separate wings, left and right, and entered the elevators up the medical area where Anthony Stark had a small hallway for emergencies.

Groot once again cradled Peter up the white rooms, and carefully laid him on one of the long beds where Tony had instructed him onto. Groot made it clear he was not leaving, and so did the Guardians as the stunned nurses and professional doctors tackled Peter's various and numerous injuries, keeping wary eyes on the watchful friends of Peter Quill.

It was tough to watch. Peter was not completely out cold, and was paler than a sleep-depraved vampire. The hole from the knife Gamora had pulled out in an attempt to wake him fully was now almost black with old blood that had a stain like a virus around his entire right thigh and chest. When the nurses attempted to peel his jacket off, he seemed to be resisting instinctively, throwing his arms around and spluttering inaudible words and curses. It was almost comical, but it soon ceased. The fearless pilot seemed to give up, and he went completely limp. Gamora's heart flushed and sank as she focused on his eyes, studying them for any sign of them even fluttering for just a moment.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of rapid cleaning, injecting, stitching, cutting, restitching, pressing, and bandaging, Peter was pushed gently into the corner of the Avenger's medical area, the doctor sweating as the nurses peeled off their maroon-stained gloves and aprons.

* * *

All the while, the Avengers watched from the other end of the tower, anxious to get away and avoid the situation altogether. They all sat at a large, glass table that projected various screen for them to watch while Peter was being healed. The room was on one of the higher floors, and served as a basic meeting-room at all times. A small cabinet even hung in the corner for Anthony's alcohol storage.

"Must be one crappy pilot." Tony remarked, watching Peter being stitched like Frankenstein monster, although the genius was not smiling.

"It wasn't _him_ who brought them here. It was your _toy_, Stark." Glaring, Steve yet again cursed technology and Stark's wise understanding of it. Steve felt rather sympathetic for the guardians; he knew what it felt like to be transported through what felt like time and space-but in this case, literally- and dropped in the middle of nowhere with unknown enemies or friendlies surrounding you. He had been quick to reason because he could tell from the start that their pilot was beloved, and that all they wanted was to leave with their friends in hand.

"It wasn't our fault entirely, and it was an accident. Let's just move on and figure out what to do here." Bruce sighed, and rubbed his temples, wracking his brain for some magical solution what he desperately wanted to appear.

"Well, I do know that that one must be human, so maybe that is why they agreed, because they knew of this planet before?" Clinton assured himself, hoping he was right. Although he was thinking aloud, Natasha spoke next, agreeing and yet disagreeing.

"You may be right Barton, but there is still a chance they might turn on us. They needed help, and that is all they might need before attempting to kill us."

"Seriously?" Bruce asked, eyes probing everyone's for a moment before proceeding.

"Look at them. They don't seem like they are all that _bent_ on 'killing us'." Bruce pulled up a larger screen to prove his point. It hovered above the center of the table in front of a window they were all facing. All of the Guardians sat or stood on the opposite wall, watching carefully as the humans in white worked around and on Peter like frantic scientists searching for something.

"They look scared to death. Do you honestly think that these guys would just turn that quickly?"

"You never know doctor. As an assassin myself I know fast the weather can change." Natasha rebutted, calm as ever.

"But _we_ are at the advantage. Do we honestly need to treat these other beings as some sort of delayed hostages?" Steve spoke up, giving Bruce an encouraging glance, which was returned with a grateful one.

The question hung in the air like a dense particle. Everyone secretly hated the idea of simply imprisoning the beings and dumping them on SHIELD, but they were also scared. What would happen if they _did_ turn, and would they? Who was right and where they mutants? Did they have mind-control powers, or could blow things up with a flick of their fingers or a single thought?

"I think if they wanted to hurt us intentionally and greatly, they would have done so already. They rode in cars with us at a close proximity in a confined space, and at least negotiated and came to some sort of agreement with us. I would say they know they are at the disadvantage, an therefore do not pose much of a threat as of now." Clinton concluded, changing his mind. Steve had a point, and although he was reluctant with his last experience with being possessed by another species, he didn't see the madness or hunger for power in these individual's eyes, which were trained the "idiot of a pilot" the raccoon mentioned earlier.

"Fine. I'll talk to them after this whole thing blows over, then Fury can deal with this." Tony spat, and marched out of the room, slightly guilty but feeling a little worn-out.

"I think he is just upset with himself." Bruce reassured the team as they watched the door slide shut. _I am too._ His stomach did a small flop-flip of regret.

In truth, they all were. Not just a few years ago, they had learned of other beings from space, and now they had accidentally just sucked more of said aliens into the central park of New York itself. What was next? They were a little frightened of what other beings were out there, and they had a right to be.

* * *

"I am Groot." The tree barely managed to whisper into Rocket's ear.

"I know you're hungry, but just hold on, I think we are going to talk to that white guy over there with the clipboard." Rocker reassured Groot. Gamora and Drax sat on either side of them, anxiously waiting for the doctor to report of Peter's condition. After what seemed like a staring contest between Drax and the nurses and Gamora and the doctors, one of the steadfast professionals finally trudged cautiously over to the rapidly-standing team of rag-tag explorers and defenders, feeling rather small.

"I am afraid I have some very bad news." He reported, lips pursed, pen over his left ear.

Gamora flinched.


	3. The Problem and the Pilot

Peter's blood-stained, tattered leather jacket hung in a corner where a medical coat rack for lab workers was bolted. His pants, shirt and other miscellaneous objects that had been fastened to him were neatly nestled under the clothing, half of the objects stained with Peter's blood. His mix tape and cassette were nowhere in sight.

The medical room was not as large as one would presume it would be in the tower of the Avengers, but it was still larger than a five-star hotel reception area. Several other unused beds lay around the room along cabinets that all looked identical, and stainless-steel sinks that somehow looked as though they had been doused in bleach and other cleaners seventy times over, their glistening sides far too foolproof-looking. Tony had built this part of the tower just in case of an emergency, but the room was not perfectly equipped to house the entire team if they were all in critical condition.

The waiting chairs where the Guardians stood in front of and where the fixed doctor stood were on the opposite end of the tables where Peter lay, unconscious and pale.

_"He is dead. I am so sorry, but there was hardly anything we could do. He has lost far too much blood and his brain has suffered from the swelling of the harsh impact. His internal organs would be useless even if we attempted to repair them due to the lacerations. I'm so sorry." _

Gamora flinched, hearing the words crystal-clear, desperately trying not to believe them with all of her willpower she could possibly summon. Her breath became heavier than her entire body, and she found it truly strenuous to remain standing as she suddenly became interested in the doctor's shoes._ If only I told him to wear his fucking seatbelt!_

"Gamora?" Drax nudged her forearm, his eyes searching hers with confusion laced with deep worry. "Are you well?"

"Uh-what?" She shook her head, hair brushing her shoulders as she looked up a little to rapidly. Her head began to spin, and she felt light-headed.

"Are you well?" Drax asked again. Rocket lept to Groot's opposite shoulder to get a closer look, his paws making chittering noises as he did so.

"Yeah...yeah. _Yes_. I am fine." Blinking, fists unclenched, she shook her head once more, turning to the doctor with undivided attention, willing the light-headedness away along with the growing hysteria.

"What did you say?"

The doctor raised his eyebrows, not surprised that she had asked again. _I should just assume to say things twice from now on for couples,_ he thought dryly.

"I said that he is somewhat stable. He is healing rather quickly for a human-"

"Half." Rocket interrupted for what seemed like the second time that Gamora was now suddenly unaware of. She ignored it.

"-of his age,'' the professional continued, somewhat annoyed, but fearful of glaring too forcefully at the tall, brooding aliens, who all had their focus trained on him like a laser from a gun. Tony had warned him of the aliens, and was not fully prepared but not _unprepared_ to face what he knew would be rather strange.

"-and stature. Most of his abrasions should at least be sealed by now, except for a particularly stubborn one that went straight into his pelvic bone on his right side."

Gamora blinked.

* * *

_"You see, these special blades are _made_ to hurt and inflict more damage on almost every type of living thing out there. See the tiny ridges along the blade, and the slightly ribbed twist at the tip?" Peter pressed it into her hand, his warm palm radiating from the handle of the knife, and into hers. She liked the comforting feeling; her heart beating irregularly, she grasped the knife, intertwining her fingers into his, trapping the blade between their palms._

_She wasn't paying attention to the particularly lethal weapon, but to his long, muscular arms across from hers. He smiled awkwardly, the way he always did when he was trying to impress her. He wasn't wearing his jacket, but sporting a long-sleeved, cotton shirt that snugly grasped Peter's tall figure, almost too short at his waist. There was hardly any light in the ship, as they were coasting towards Xandar for their second "checkup". The stars the only objects shining in through the windows, the planet lost in the galaxy as the vessel silently glided, as if on clear and calm water._

_"Yondu used to train with me with these, but I preferred using cool gadgets to stun my enemies, and spare them my fatal blows." He said in a mocking, masculine tone, face scrunching into a fake-seducing expression, eyebrows hiked up, cheeks sucked in, head shaking._

_"Is that really true?" She asked, beaming while gazing into his clear, blue eyes, moving closer, his hand still connected in hers. _

_"Yeah. But it was more like because I got tired of him nearly stabbing me to death, so I just persuaded him to teach me the cool stuff." The knife clattered to the ships' floor of the cockpit, but it was long forgotten as they embraced fully, their hips touching, arms and fingers both intertwined, noses just inches from each others' as they began to-_

_"Hey! Pick that thing up before someone falls and stabs themselves with it." Rocket demanded as he walked by, eyes rolling, gun in hand as he slung it over his shoulder once more._

* * *

"We have taken care of the internal bleeding and minor broken bones, but unfortunately, your..." He mentally searched for the right word. "_Friend_ is just as normal as any human would when it comes to brain damage and the major categories of wounds."

"You didn't hear any of this just now?" Rocket regarded Gamora's blank stare, as if she was trying to soak in the words, or remember something. She inhaled sharply before regaining her attention, holding back a small tear, blinking far too many times in a row.

"I had just assumed the worst, that's all." She clarified, realizing the words that were "crystal-clear'' was her imagination preparing her for the worst, and expecting as much. She wracked her subconscious for that, and tried to cling to the doctor's next words; she wasn't out of the ballpark safely yet, in spite of being relieved that he was not deceased entirely after all.

"Our scanners show that he has suffered a rather immense concussion that has caused a special kind of rapid brain-damage. He is in something of what we call a 'floating coma'. If he wakes up, there is a 50-50 chance he will not remember much of anything, even his own name, or remember everything and be just fine, hence the 'floating' aspect of the coma itself." He explained.

Gamora blinked again, letting the scenario flash like a horrific battle in her mind. How could the famous Starlord suddenly not realize he was Peter Quill? Would he remember his friends, his family, or even his success in defeating Ronan the Accuser? Would he recognize _her_? This couldn't possibly be the end of his space-endearing life, could it?

All of the Guardians shuddered at the thought, and how likely the odds were at the moment. _Is this a nightmare?_

"He may not remember the last 24 hours, or your names, just what happened and that is it. It's all on a spectrum and only time will tell, but there is also a chance he may _never_ fully return to full consciousness." The doctor concluded, carefully studying the aliens' faces. He was used to being tackled at reports like this before, and he was prepared for that.

"His pelvic bone is not healing as fast as his other scrapes and bruises, so we are assuming it will be functional for him to walk within a few weeks time." Changing the subject, he considered backing away, eyeing the Raccoon's tail swishing back and forth in a chaotic manner.

Gamora moved her empty gaze to Peter, nearly tuning out the doctor as he continued, longing for his hand on her shoulder, comforting her that everything was going to be just fine, and that this would all be over soon.

"Even the skin is not healing at his...apparent normal rate, but it has been addressed." On a softer note, he added quietly, "These type of flash brain-damages truly are unpredictable. I have had some patients wake up completely fine, others..." He only made a sympathetic face, and with that, he walked out of the room, nurses whispering in tow behind him except one woman in her mid thirties, who stood near Peter with a small clipboard and a silver pen, adjusting the monitor's screen output.

For some reason, Gamora imagined Peter flirting with her, waking up miraculously to throw a punch line and a quick wink of his eye in a teasing gesture.

When the eerily silent Guardians approached behind her she gasped, but regained herself before quietly warning, "You can stay as long as you wish, just do not touch of talk to him, for his brain shouldn't try to process anything for a bit while it heals itself. It needs to reduce using the senses for a while." She cast an apologetic and sympathetic look to all four of them before adding, "If you need something or an alarm goes off, press this button here." She gestured to a blue square on the wall that as large as Drax's hand. They nodded, and watched her leave as they simply stood there, dumbfounded at how quickly the last hour had flew by.

They all felt empty. How could he possibly wake up and not recognize his own face, let alone theirs? What would happen to Peter if he woke up like a vegetable? Who would fix the ship? When would they be able to contact Nova Prime? Where they really that far from home? Where was that now?

"I should have listened to him. He would never have unbuckled if...if..."Rocket weakly stammered, unable to finish his sentence. Groot turned his head towards his lifelong friend, resting a small finger on his hand reassuringly, eyes gentle, offering a small smirk.

"It's not your fault, Rocket. I am the co-pilot, I should have scorned at him to put on the damn thing." Gamora shakily sighed, trying very hard not to let a tear fall. She couldn't believe that she had been too busy enjoying herself at the time, too busy being selfish to save Peter's life. _I can't even touch him!_ She thought furiously._ Am I sure this is not just a nightmare?_

"It's not anyone's fault, Gamora. None of us could have done anything to prevent any of this, Peter _or_ the crash." Drax assured, letting his hand rest on Gamora's right shoulder. She squeezed it whilst gazing at Peter's seemingly-lifeless body.

He was still pale, and had a thick white gauze headband wrapped snugly around his head and under his chin. There was a large, white towel-thick bandage held down by medical tape on his hip, almost like a large sterile tumor. His abdomen was bare, and there were surprisingly no black hole-sized bruises or major gashes. His legs looked like they were wrapped in a loose, white pair of cotton sweatpants that were bleached out and very baggy, yet almost too short.

The Guardians felt completely lost. Peter had become the ultimate leader for all of them, despite his immature attitude here and there. After defeating Ronan, it became apparent that he had the most experience in surviving and thriving in space, smooth and distracting social strategies being a powerful byproduct that he was very developed in. He always knew where they were from traveling to almost every planet in the galaxy with the Ravagers, learning how to fight and survive in any situation thrown at him as a younger child for nearly 26 years.

Peter Quill had lived up to his name as Starlord, but not as a thief or a criminal mastermind, but as a loyal Guardian, friend, leader, and mood picker-upper. Now, thanks to the Avengers, or two curious scientists, that there was a frighteningly intimidating chance that none of it would ever exist again.

Gamora felt a steady rage building inside of her. Who did those individuals think they were? Was this _their_ fault?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a long, throaty growl that came from Drax. It was his stomach, which was followed by her own, and then Rocket's. Gamora suddenly felt nauseous, and fatigued beyond measure as a waves of true hunger hit the Guardians like a stunted hangover.

"We need to talk to these _humans_. We need to keep them from destroying our ship, and carry out our end of the deal." Drax concluded, trying his very best to ignore and divert the attention to the deep hunger that felt like it was gnawing at his organs by the minute.

"Drax is right. I'm sure that they would have let Peter die and attack us when they had the chance long ago if they were truly our enemies." Gamora processed how "long ago" was, and came to realize it was only an hour.

"I'm fucking starving." Rocket's blunt statement sunk in easily, and it was near knee-buckling, but they all needed to appear confident and strong like Peter would in a situation such as this.

Like Starlord.

"I am Groot." Groot agreed, and looked at his own stomach. It wasn't growling, but as a colossus, he still required water and some sort of supplement for food, such as other plants or fruit. At this point, he was about ready to eat anything.

"Let's just get this over with." Gamora sighed, somehow exhausted in every way. When they had left another planet to go to Xandar, they had forgotten to supply on rations from where they came from nearly a half of a day ago, as the trip to Xandar was several hours that the ship coasted on autopilot for most of the course, until the pilots needed to steer into the landing pad on Xandar. Peter and the others had just awoken when Rocket had begun screaming about his weapon not being loaded, as Peter had taken it while the rigid raccoon-experiment was sleeping to hide the ammunition.

"Agreed." Drax began slowly walking to the door, fighting his worsening hunger, the others behind, letting their strongest friend lead the way.

* * *

"Sir, the alien life forms have left the hospital wing and are currently moving into the west hallway. Would you like me invite them to the conference room where the others still reside?" It had been several minutes from when he left the conference room to let off steam, away from the Avengers as they discussed the visitors without him.

Anthony Stark was not one to feel guilt from himself or anyone else, but he was _not_ proud of what he had done. There was so much more the genius should have thought of with this kind of technology. Pepper was more than right, and the thought only made his stomach churn more.

It _wasn't_ just another car to build, or another suit to tinker with that could tear the lab apart and then eventually replace all of those objects; this was a dangerous, unstable portal that he has created by a terrible accident, and as a dire and shocking result, he had torn away a family from their home and caused yet another alien species to come crashing and invading into New York as before, where millions had settled in and enjoyed knowing they were safe from more attacks.

Taking a sip of cinnamon-spiced rum, he gazed out of the window sullenly where the park and ship still were still nested. The digital boundaries darkened so the people could not see what was in the dome of the barriers that were set up nearly two hours ago. Black vehicles were stationed around the park, pushing the boundaries even more so many could barely see past the trees themselves. The director was still in his meeting, but he sent Maria Hill to clean up the mess.

Tony took another swig before answering shamefully, "Yeah." Setting down his heavy glass, he exhaled, feeling older than he really was.

_What have I done?_

* * *

"Let me just introduce ourselves to make up for the bad start. I'm Anthony Stark, genius and billionaire in-"

"What the hell is a 'billionaire'?" Rocket inquired, claws digging into Groot's shoulders once again, teeth clenched.

On one end of the thick glass table sat the Guardians, exhausted from the constant adrenaline-pump that ran inside of their hearts, worried sick, and rather agitated at the other figures across the table who were currently known as the Avengers.

Confused, searching for answers, and conflicted with each opinion to the next. The time came for the decision to be made: would the Guardians be tossed to Director Fury and be imprisoned when he arrived in an hour, or allowed to stay in New York peacefully until they managed to get their ship off of the ground again, and until Peter would wake up a vegetable, or not?

"It is a defining term for when you possess so much money that you presume that you can build high-tech machines that suck people from outer space." Bruce ran a hand over his face, exhaling in stress and guilt.

"So _you_ brought us here?" Not understanding the sarcasm, Drax accused heavily by glaring at Tony, who was sitting back in the rolling chair that was bolted to the table, eyes darting from each Guardian in fascination, his own stories forming in his mind. _I wonder if she eats a lot of green beans? Maybe the little guy just needs some corn..._

"Yes, we are responsible for your existence here, and possibly the state of your pilot." Bruce admitted, and he attempted to apologize through his frown and sympathetic gaze. _What have we done?_

"Is your pilot a human?" Steve asked. He sat at the far left by Clinton, who still had his shades on. The whole room fell into a profound silence.

"That doesn't matter. What did you do with our ship?" Rocket questioned hotly, skipping the rest of the intrduction. He earned a fierce glance from Gamora, who inaudibly reminded Rocket of the grace they needed to negotiate peacefully, _without_ implied threats of any sort, verbal or physical.

_Peter was always so good at this. What would he do? What would he say?_

Natasha had always been just as good as Clinton at observing behavior. It was part of her skills to tell what kind body language translated into. Clinton had been eyeing Gamora's silent communications, and spoke before Tony could begin instigating again.

"Do you love him?"

The question caught everyone off-guard, the Avengers especially. _Why would he ask something like that?_ Natasha wondered, and turned to him with a clearly confused look. However, it was quickly forgotten, remebering where they were and why. Clinton remained expressionless, waiting patiently for an answer.

Bruce pretended to be interested in his hands, clearly still feeling wave after wave of guilt. Tony was silent for once, and Steve looked from Guardian to Guardian, waiting expectantly._ Just when you thought the world couldn't get any weirder, _He thought with a dull dread that made him want to shrink back into the earlier 1900s to escape this madness of aliens and inter-galactic love. He couldn't decide if he was amazed, or overwhelmed anymore.

The Guardians looked at each other, once again wondering if they should tell the truth or hold back.

"No. He is our friend, and we are only concerned. He is the only one who knows how to pilot the ship back home." Gamora lied, making sure to remain stone-faced; she wasn't the only highly-skilled assassin in the room. Natasha wasn't the only one who was skeptical of the response. All of the Avengers saw the looks the Guardians had given each other in the medical corridor, and wondered the same thing; Clinton just happened to speak first.

"But he _is_ half-human. The other half is...well, we don't know, but it's something much more...substantial than a human." Gamora chose her words carefully, trying to think as fast as she could as the hunger, fatigue, and burning in her heart proceeded to eat her and her teamates alive.

"He wouldn't be alive if his race was _completely_ human." Drax supported, to cover what might have sounded like an insult. Gamora only stared down the Avengers instead, hoping she didn't sound unsure.

"You don't _know_ his other half?" Natasha pondered out loud, eyebrow furrowing. She tapped her foot anxiously, head cocked marginally.

"No." More silence. The air was no longer nearly as intense as it had been, but rather awkward, and still thin as any wrong statement could cause an outbreak of a worse outcome than Peter waking up a dead-brained pilot.

"Can I just say something here?" Bruce asked informally, turning to his fellow Avengers quickly, as if in permission before continuing.

"Why not?" Rocket asked dryly, waving his right arm.

"We are not holding your pilot captive or anything. We're here to negotiate and talk as neutrals and possibly allies. I know no one is particularly excited about this, but it's our fault you are here so it's _our_ responsibility to deal with this as peacefully as possible so no one on either side gets hurt." He spilled. Bruce felt like he had lost a few pounds by letting the statement hang in the air to soak. The Avengers shot him a look that was a cross between confusion, gratitude for offering a solution, and understanding, wanting the meeting to proceed as smoothly as possible.

_That are no match for us anyways,_ Rocket thought arrogantly. "Fine. But we aren't agreeing to any permanent commitments." Gamora answered, sensing Rocket's arrogant attitude rising. Bruce nodded, looking at the other Avengers once more, making sure he was doing everything right.

"I am Groot."

"What _is_ that?" Steve asked, face crunching up in a curious style.

"His name is Groot, duh. He is a _Flora Colossus_ from planet X." Rocket explained, surprisingly calm.

"What does he do?" Steve pushed further, beginning to lean in like a child learning about a dinosaurs and space.

"Anything he wants." Rocket's blunt tone nearly ruined the softest moment of the whole ordeal, until Groot stood up. Rocket jumped from his shoulder knowingly, and stood on the table in front of the tree, as tall as he could, gazing up at Groot with an encouraging folded-arms stance.

Groot smiled, and unfolded his blood-dried limbs, the wood making rippling creaking noises as various leaves fell onto the table and metal ground. Clinton frowned at the mess. The tree blinked a few times, then closed his eyes.

"Is he pooping acorns?" Tony asked, eyebrows raised. Natasha glared at him along with Gamora as Drax gave him a look a pure confusion. Rocket's teeth bared, but he didn't turn around.

Groot ignored the question, and concentrated. Small dandelions sprouted slowly from his shoulders and arms. Stretching his limbs out further around the circumference of the table, as if he was giving it a large hug, his thin fingers and hands merged on the rim of the table in between Natasha and Steve, who both gingerly took their arms and elbows off of the modern furniture. Steve watched Groot's arms with more fascination and wonder than Natasha, who was still wary of what Groot was doing. Tony simply regarded the wooden limbs with mere boredom. Bruce and Clinton only studied out of curiosity, suspicious of what might happen next.

Groot opened his eyes, and the white flurries of the plants flew into the air like there was no gravity. They touched the noses of the Avengers, and rose from the table in a breath-taking flight. They floated around the room as the Guardians watched in renewed charm for their friend, almost smiling. Rocket rested his paws on Groot's abdomen, gazing at the simple action results like a child again, smirking, patting Groot as a reward. Groot finally retracted his arms after a few silent moments, the bare stems sinking back into the crevices of his arms.

The massive tree sat back down, and appeared exhausted. No longer smirking but anxious, Rocket moved closer, turning his face, inspecting, sniffing his head.

"What is he doing?" Clinton asked, apparently unfazed by the event that left white fuzz in his hair, staring at Rocket.

"We are all just...uncomfortable." The Zen assassin replied carefully. She still needed to keep their image of being strong, and still equally negotiating.

"All right, I think we get it." Tony concluded. Steve raised an eyebrow at him.

"It's obvious none of us really, _truly_ want to kill each other, so why don't you just hang here with us until we talk with our buddy, Director Fury? It won't be the first time we've had alien guests." He asked, standing up. He looked at each of them. _T__he least I can do is offer my hospitality before one-eye shows up_, he thought cynically.

"Are you sure?" Natasha whispered into his ear, breaking her gaze away from the figures across the table.

Tony ignored her, and she scoffed, crossing her arms. _Of course I am. Why would I make the offer?_

Gamora stood up, and feeling like she was going to faint, she nodded. The rest of the Guardians followed suit, and Tony declared, "Awesome. I think you'll find this hotel quite to your liking, my friends."

* * *

What followed next was almost comical, and still hostile at the same time. Tony forgot to think about where their new "friends" would stay, either in the tower, which Natasha threw a menacing glare at him along with Clinton, or with SHIELD. The director woudl arrive soon, but they had decided: the Guardians would reside with the Avengers is the tower of heros.

Tony gestured for them to follow him, but the Guardians wanted to be with the ship. Rocket, through a series of thick vents, demanded to be led back to the ship, broken or not. He wanted his weapons as he was not comfortable being in a prison-like building. Gamora agreed, but realized that the tower was where Peter was, and it was better if they all stayed on the same floor.

Natasha and Clinton decided to move to the upper rooms where the science and technology was, still skeptical of the aliens and preferring to be near the electrical influences in case of emergencie. Swiflty leaving the room in a hurry to exchange their few belongings. Bruce and Steve simply agreed to stay in their hallways on floor below the two assassins, and Tony kept to his on the upper floor with Pepper, whom he was painfully aware he needed to call so that he did not face the expected physical wrath.

Tony remained behind to guide the Guardians. He knew that he had extra "guest" rooms, but he was not sure if they were fit for the outer-space travelers. He had them built only as a precaution and for a lack of another other ideas for the leftover space.

"No breaking my stuff or drinking my alcohol. That's a no-no." They only exchanged confused glances, but listened to Anthony while he spoke across the nearly-empty table.

"My tower has a snappy security system activated, so if you try to jump out of the window, shoot someone or tackle any of us in any attempt to harm us, I'll tell JARVIS to gut you." Tony warned dryly, meeting each gaze with purposeful force.

"What is a JARVIS?" Drax asked, forehead creasing in confusion.

"He is my artificial intelligence. Like an internal robot that manages my tower and takes care of the trash for me." Tony answered, smirking.

"What about P-our pilot?" Gamora asked, stomach trying to strangle her heart.

"He'll be fine. I have the best medical professionals in that room, so don't bother. If you need anything, just head to the large lobby that is on your floor. I'm afraid that you'll have to stay on your floor, and in the building until the Director comes back to talk to you further." Tony quickly explained, trying not to sound like a parent to a child. He felt rather unpleasant being alone with them, but he knew JARVIS had his back, and that his suits would follow his command in less than a minute.

"Are we all going to be in close proximity with each other?" Gamora asked.

"Sure. I don't have visitors very often, so it might be a little tight, but it will suffice for now."

Tony finally led all four of the Guardians to the makeshift rooms, careful not to get too close. The lobby area that he mentioned was similar to that of a large hotel room itself. There was a kitchen, couch, TV, and other various living-room furniture scattered neatly over the massive room, with even an electronic fireplace in the corner. A marble counter sported a microwave and a trash drawer. The rooms fed into the lobby at two opposing hallways that were separated by a wide hallway that had a locked elevator on the entrance to the spacious, area.

A massive window was placed on either side of the hallway where the elevator was, and the rooms themselves were much nicer than Tony had described. A large bed and a personal bathroom and dresser, complete with even more windows and thick shades. They were carpeted, and as the leery Guardians explored their rooms like cats that had been brought home for the first time, Tony crept back into the elevator, and locked it.

The guardians were not used to the ground not being dirt, a metal of some kind, or a hard surface, so when they stepped into the carpeted texture that seemed to grab their boots, they were immediately puzzled. Rocket grumbled about something involving his claws getting snagged.

* * *

Speed-dialing Pepper as he stepped into the metal container, locking it as he pressed the stainless-steel button to his own suite, he desired heavily that he could just leave a message. For the first time in his life, he hoped that she was in a meeting or conference of some sort so that she wouldn't pick up, and continued listening to the gibber-gabbering of the sen-

"What is it Tony?" Crisp, and sharp as a blade.

Shit.

"Hey there, lovely. Whatcha doin'?" Tony croaked, eyes fixed on the stainless steel buttons. Pepper's face appeared in front of Ton'y's on a transluscent screen that was projected by JARVIS in the back corner under Tony's waving commands.

"What? Did you blow up the workshop?" Her head tilted expectantly, as if it was as normal as ordering pizza.

"Um...more like central park?" He winced, offering a playful smirk, and regretting it instantly.

"You _weren't_ careful, were you? Did you seriously think that bringing that _thing_ to the park was a wise idea? Oh my god Tony, why haven't I heard of this-"

"Pepper!" She stopped mid-sentence, but still had her face contorted in a flash of anger.

"I accidentally brought aliens, but the good kind, I think. There's only like, 4 and a half of them. We-"

Pepper shrieked in heated fury. "Tony Stark! What did I TELL YOU?!" Her ear-splitting tone seemed to make the screen fade and shudder slightly.

"Relax, we have it taken care of." His blood rushed to his face as he felt like a toddler being scolded. It certainly was not the first time in his life this had happened.

"That is what you said last time. I'm coming back right now. Happy?" Her face turned behind her where the head of security looked up from an associate, an expression full of alert.

"Uh, no, that's fine. Honest, we handled it smoothly; there wasn't even a fight-" Tony's stomach flipped.

"There was a fight? Is anyone hurt?" Pepper turned her attention back to Stark, wide-eyed like a deer in the headlights, but clearly still enraged .

"No! Just don't come to the tower. I'll have Happy take you somewhere else. I don't trust these hooligans." Tony defended, trying to sound completely sure of himself. He didn't trust the aliens to let Pepper return to their tower, even if it was also full of Avengers and various suits. He only half-expected the aliens to obey his house rules, and although there were Avengers to outmatch the Guardians, there was a chance they could lose, as Tony recalled the towering Entling that made a mess in his conference room.

"You can stay in a hotel near here, or just continue whatever you are doing right now. I know of a great sandwhich place call-"

"No, Tony I am going to go to the tower _right_ now since _obviously_ you can't-"

"Pepper!" He shouted exasperated beyond measure. He locked eyes with her, as she snapped her head up to the screen, startled.

"Don't come back. Everything is stable, okay? I mean it, and there not a chance I want you in there unless I surround you with ten more Happys. Please Pepper, I'm begging you. Just, stay where you are, and I promise I will talk to you about this later." Tony didn't blink, and neither did the CEO of Stark Industries. After a few moments of the unbroken gaze, Pepper sighed, shaking her head.

"Tony, I'm not your pet dog that you can just order wherever you want." She didn't necessarily seem hurt, but rather tired of repeating herself.

"But-"

"_But_," she cut him off, "I will follow Happy to the safehouse until you contact me, and not be treated like an outcast. I thought I could trust you with this, Tony." She frowned, anger evaporated and was replaced with a deep dispointment in her expression.

"I'm sorry. I have to fix this, but I promise you can return in a few hours when Fury gets back. I promise, Pepper." He pleaded.

"Okay. Happy and I are leaving now." She cut off the connection abruptly with one last saw look at Tony.

The genius ran a hand through his hair once more. _She really knows how to make me feel like shit_. The elvator indicated he had arrived at his room.

* * *

"I am not definitely _not_ going to sleep tonight." Clinton admitted, fine-tuning his bow on his bed while Natasha stared into the blue sky.

The clock read 9:26am.

"I am."

Clinton looked up at her, question marks floating in his eyes.

"Ever since Loki, it's like my mind has been opened up to the this entire spectrum of possibilities. Frankly, I wasn't surprised that Tony was able to bring even more unknown life forms into New York. I wasn't all that excited, but I feel like Earth is just one end of a long string of planets we don't even know about." She didn't turn to look at him, but continued scanning the sky, as if expecting another ship to come spiraling down onto the tower itself.

"Huh. Wish I could say the same. I think I would rather just Tony stop fidgeting with the unknown, and wait for this all to stop repeating itself." He put the small screwdriver down, tugging on the bow string.

"Clinton, there is not 'stopping' of these types of happenings. It's _never_ going to stop." She moved to sit next to him, just as they had in New York in the Hellicarrier after Clinton was freed of Loki's grasp.

Barton studied the ground, secretly understanding. He hated that she was right; aliens were going to be a part of their lifespan, sprouting from when Asgard so boldly announced its presence in New Mexico.

"I know it's not preferable, but we need to embrace this for the rest of our lives. Loki and the Chitauri were just the beginning, and we should be thankful Tony didn't pull out another hell-bent god of some kind." She offered the archer a small smile, a neutral understanding passing between the two.

"Yeah. I guess." Clinton stood up after a short moment, placing his bow gingerly in the wall-stand SHIELD had given him years ago.

"Do you think they will turn on us?" Clinton asked, walking over to where Natasha stood, folding his arms much like hers.

"I doubt it. They seem to care too much about that pilot in the medical ward."

"The half-human? He sure looks like a full one to me."

"I know, but he came with them, so they must be telling the truth."

"Except about loving him." Clinton added. Natasha turned completely to stare at him, a confused look in her round eyes.

"Why did you ask that? That had nothing to do with the negotiation."

"I wanted to know. You saw how that one green chick was after doctor Greenwood talked to them, and how she retracted when she answered my question." He met her eyes, no anxiety present in his.

"I caught it, yes. But why would you want to know?" Clinton paused, as if confused as to why she had asked.

"I know that aliens are part of the universe for sure now that I've seen a raccoon talk and a tree walk. I just hate to admit it. I wanted to see if love or some sort of compassion-related emotion was universal, if they were more human than I thought. I also figured if she or the rest of them did love that guy, then it would serve as leverage for us, and provide a common ground to at least get along the next week." He concluded, blinking a few times. He hated using injured people for leverage, but in this situation, he could not deny that it was an obvious option in everyone's mind.

"It just took me by surprise." She watched him, taking in his presence. She was briefly reminded of how much she felt comfortable with her fellow assassin.

"It did for everyone, I suppose."

There was another silence as both assassins gazed out of the window, wondering what was next for them. The ship was still in the park, and Natasha thought she saw Maria Hill pointing and yelling at someone, waving her arms backwards in big sweeping motions faintly through the dome's curved walls.

"This is going to be a long week." She commented, and bumped Clinton playfully as he returned the gesture.

* * *

"Step back! Get back, _now_!" Maria shouted at the top of her lungs, hands and arms waving around like an escaped madman. Her soldiers and technology engineers ran towards the cars for cover as the ship let off a bright, white flash, temporarily blinding Maria and her men.

The ship began to splutter out some type of foam that looked like soap at first, but soon became something else entirely. Slowly, like a gentle cloud, the foam bubbled from the top of the ship like a growing umbrella-cocoon, drooling down the metal carcass and onto the green grass and dry, pulled-up dirt.

"What is happening?" Maria shouted to her technology specialist, Jane.

"It's some sort of coolant-no wait...you have got to be kidding me." Facial expression faltering, she looked up from a monitor that was connected to a panel that was aimed at the ship.

"What?!" Maria demanded. She had been directing the officers and SHIELD agents to inspect and move the ship somewhere else to the headquarters, and she had just about ordered to go-ahead to attach the hooks to the hauling trucks and then to the spacecraft when the ship seemed to develop a mind of its own.

The vessel had groaned from within, and it sounded as if something was moving and stomping still inside. Instead, a type of white-foam emerged at an alarming rate, and began covering the spacecraft like paint.

Suddenly, it ceased and the white, thick substance began to swell into a sfoter-looking material. It continued at an alarmingly fast rate, and Maria considered evacuating the dome entirely until it stopped.

The foam had increased in at least four feet in width, and had coated the entire ship. It turned into a grey, speckled design, and looked far too similar to a colossal, grey rock with what looked like black freckles.

The _Milano_ had disguised itself, and Maria realized with dread that there was no way the vessel was going to move now. She dialed Fury.

"We have a problem."

* * *

The steadfast director arrived at the tower in a brisk, purposeful motion of exiting the meeting, slamming his car door shut, and then speeding towards the cleanly-energized building that was obnoxiously placed in the near-center of the bustling city of New York. He was much like Bruce as he was not surprsied to know that Tony had pulled more aliens from the sky, but was not thrilled either.

Arriving in a black Suburban, he stormed up the tower to the conference room that had received far too much use in the past few hours.

"What. In the _hell_. Where you thinking?" He growled in a deep tone in Tony's face. It was just the two of them in the room, as the other Avengers were scattered in the tower.

"I was building a _security_ precaution, your favorite kind of toy; you should be thanking me."

"I should be _thanking_ you? No, see that is why _I_ am the director of this team, and not you. I don't use _toys_." Fury retored, a dry frown that was permanently etched into his dark features.

"Well, thank you, Mr. Stark, for now bringing five un-classified aliens into my city, and _thank_ _you_ for also separating them from their rock of a ship that is now stuck in the most visited park in New York city!" His voice rose with every word as he indicated angrily behind him, ignoring the scattered leaves and dandelion dust.

"I did what was best. It's done now, so I think we should just move on, director." He rebutted calmly, knowing he was pushing the boundaries; he was absent of his previous, burdening guilt. Fury internally scolded himself for allowing the team to take care of the problem, and not busting his ass to get out of the board meeting that had been dreaded by him for days now. He was ready to put the board members on a red-hot fire prod like a shish-kebab after their decision to send a nuclear bomb to blow up part of the United States.

"That's what you _think_." He snarled. He stood up fully, and stormed to the window, glaring at the electronic dome.

"It is only because we have a more pressing matter that I am _temporarily_ letting this go." Stressing the 'temporarily', the director whipped his eye patched-gaze back to Tony, who was still sitting like a punished child.

"Which is?" He asked, contempt to be "temporarily let go".

"That vessel needs to be moved into our custody so the people can move on with their lives, but it has somehow gained several thousand pounds in seconds, and has attached itself to the ground where our forces can't get to it, not even make it budge. We need more power and frankly, a highly-specialized technician."

Tony got up from his chair, and tapped a few times on the table, commanding JARVIS. He received a 360 view of the ship, and he whisteld. _Damn_, he thought. He almost laughed at how ridiculous it looked, but resisted, as Fury was watching along with the billionaire.

"I don't have anything that can possibly move a thirty-ton spaceship, and me being the smartest person in this world, I doubt even I can do much, which you better write that in your diary somewhere because forming form me, that's saying something." Tony began sprouting ideas in his head, but even the genius struggled in figuring out how to move such a heavy object of that size. He studied the ship, a new idea pulling itself together in his processing mind.

"Well what do you suggest?" Fury asked.

Tony looked up, eyebrows raised.

* * *

The Guardians had found a series of fruits and other recognizable food in the large refrigerator in the corner of the "lobby" that Tony shooed them into. They had waited until he had left before they all scoured the room like blood-hounds for any scrap of nourishment.

Groot had began chomping like a ticket-shredder on a large-leafed plant that sat peacefully in the corner near the window in a woven basket. After they had all settled from their grand intake of all known foods in the kitchen, they gathered at the edge of the counter, stomachs satisfied.

They recapped what had happened to themselves briefly. They had been trapped in other dangerous situations at other planets like this one, but not because the ship had crashed and their pilot was half-deceased. They all had the experience necessary to at least make it out alive most of the time when they all worked together, but this incident was different. Without Peter and the known whereabouts of the ship, was escaping the real priority as it always had been before?

"So now that we're all buddies with _these_ ass-wipes, what is the plan of attack?" Rocket questioned, setting his too-large-for-his-size gun, its heavy _thunk_ echoing in the room, his paw resting on it protectively. Groot stared at it with a newfound fascination as Gamora spoke, Drax listening intently.

"Well for one thing, I think our ship is going to be intact. By now, the exterior defense mechanisms have likely activated, and I doubt these humans have the force to move it, let alone take it in captivity in saying that." She declared, sure of herself now that her stomach was no longer lashing out at her.

"I agree, especially if they attempted to tamper with it." Drax stretched his neck muscles and rolled his shoulders. Everyone felt more drained than ever, and only half of the day had passed. The time lapse was surprisingly not an abundantly wide gap of hours, but the Guardians had suffered too much of a whirlwind of events, tragic and rather unusual.

"Let's not get all sappy now; we're still in captivity, remember?" Rocket forcefully reminded them, his voice returning with more grit than before.

"I don't think we are going to be harmed, and therefore don't _need_ a plan of attack, Rocket. These humans seem...different than the ones that Peter mentioned."

* * *

_"When I was a kid, there were always these kids my age that would try and steal my cassette player. I can't remember that well, but I think this one kid even tried to step on my head while I was napping outside." He gingerly handed it to her, as if they held the universe's most delicate artifact in the palms of his calloused hands. In his mind, it was._

_"Why?"_

_"They were just jealous I guess. I was a stud back then, so everyone pushed me around and tried to be like me because they just could _not_ handle my astounding, natural smoothness that could only be matched by a washed-up jellyfish." He flinched at his last few words, as Gamora flashed him a gentle, confused look._

_"That sounded much cooler in my head." His small frown was quickly replaced with a beaming grin as Gamora only chuckled, picturing a little Peter dancing to his 70s hits that his mother gave him. _

_"In any case, I just avoided almost everyone. Humans can be so lame." He ironically stated, watching Gamora turnover the player in her slender fingers._

_They were on Xandar, waiting for the supplies to be loaded onto the ship. This marked the sixth check-up to Xandar total, and they were standing outside of the ship. The sun cast rays of radiating light that made the clean spaceship sparkle, and cast small bubbles of the reflecting light onto Peter and Gamora's face. Groot, Rocket, and Drax were wandering the city, looking for a special type of weapon that had interested Drax as well as Rocket. _

_The 'Second Son', it was called. Rocket had heard of it from an advertisement that was plastered all over the alleyways of Xandar that he had been wandering the day before, as it took a few days to fully resupply and recover from wherever they had arrived from. _

_"You know, maybe you should stop me from saying such cheesy profanity." Wrapping his arms around Gamora's waist, he let his eyes settle into hers. She moved closer, placing her hand on his cheek, which was growing rough patches of dark brown hair. She pulled his face closer, resting her forehead on his chin closing her eyes and letting it fall under his head. _

_Peter laughed, his throat shifting against her emerald skin._

_"What?" She asked, intaking his musky, slightly oil-like smell, her breath running off of the collar of his creased jacket._

_"You hair tickles." He confessed with a small giggle, and rested his head tenderly on her head. He loved the way her head seemed to fit perfectly into his neck, and how she trusted him to let him be in this moment with him. _

_"Peter Quill, I think I love you." She whispered, holding him tighter._

_"I would too." She rolled her eyes, and only internally scoffed at his endless list of witty responses._

* * *

_"_How do you know?" Rocket raised his eyebrows skeptically.

"Research. I was doing some and then Peter told me about them when he was younger." She didn't lie completely, just kept the unimportant parts to herself, feeling selfish for not letting in the others on the bottlenecked relationship she had with him.

"Hmph." Rocket jumped from the counter, grabbing his gun once more. He walked to the leather couch and jumped on it, prodding the material as if testing it.

"I think we should just wait. I doubt we can do much here in this tower anyways. Just stay alert as you can." Gamora left the counter and walked over to the window, gazing at the city below.

She wondered what humans did throughout their lives. Peter had told her that they had not mastered space-travel yet, and that they had barely invented the technology to travel the greatest distances in various vehicles in the first place. She observed the large cars move slowly around the black, sticky-looking roads. Recalling several minutes ago, she had grimaced at the putrid smell of the exhaust from the cars fro the ride before, and did not enjoy the comfort of their stiff seats.

Drax walked up behind her, but was silent as he moved ot the opposite window. Groot was heard moving to where Rocket was, eyeing a smaller plant that was in a glass pot to the right of the couch. Rocket dared him to eat it, and his words were soon followed by a rustling, munching sound.

Drax hoped that Peter was okay, and would wake up as motivated and outgoing as he had always been. Drax was just as scared as the rest o the Guardians, and he too feared that Peter would not return to them in his proper state. Just as Gamora had done, he ran over the scenario in his mind.

The result was his stomach curling into a ball as his heart quickly picked up its pace in an terrifying instant. The muscular alien exhaled, and stretched his neck once more, trying to push his rigid thoughts away.

Suddenly, the elevator door slid open and a tall, brooding man walked in with Tony. Gamora nor the Destroyer had time to react or ask questions as the dark man with an eyepatch asserted, "Which one of you is the pilot?"


	4. Unexpected Relationships

"He is injured." For some reason, Drax felt no reason to lie to the authority-demanding man that stood unwaveringly in front of the Guardians. _Hadn't the humans proved to be worthy of themselves by now?_ He thought surely. Groot ceased chomping on the plant, moving his brick-shaped head to look towards the elevator, Rocket leaping from the leather couch to land protectively in front of the sentient tree.

"How so?"

Gamora disagreed with Drax, switching her gaze from the window to Tony, a question in her eyes. _Didn't he know? It's _his_ damn tower_, she thought, irritated by the two men interrupting her thoughts. She was confronted with a straightforward question, unable to process much in how to respond to the man, though a part of her was beginning to grow tired of thinking fast.

"Uh, he's in my medical facility with something of a coma or whatever. Didn't I mention that?" The director spun on his heels, once again irritated, completely unfazed by Gamora's green skin and Drax's broad shoulders that were coated in maroon outlining.

"Why do you always insist on wasting my time with your games, Stark?" He barked, and with his trench coat flapping behind him, he began to storm back into the elevator.

"Hey! Baldie, she's the copilot." Rocket spat, now standing by Gamora's legs, pointing with his gun towards her face. For a moment, Fury couldn't decide if he should laugh, assert the insult, or ignore what he just saw and heard. Instead, he chose to simply address Gamora, his one eye probing hers like a microscope, tired of galloping around New York and Stark's tower and getting nowhere with anyone, human or alien.

"And who are you?"

"Gamora. I _am_ the copilot." She quickly answered. "Why is this relevant? Has something happened to our captain?" She inquired almost too quickly, looking to Tony for an answer, eyes on fire.

"Not that I am aware of. However, your ship has activated some kind of defense apparatus that is preventing us from dislodging it from where it crash-landed. Do either one of you know how to unactivate it?" Fury questioned, pointing to the window.

Confused, Rocket spat, "I don't see a goddamned thing." He leaped onto the railing, and peeked out, Gamora following suit, keeping her eye on the two visitors. Groot slowly made his way over as did Drax. Sighing, Tony demanded for JARVIS to present Maria's live feed. The whole window projected became what they were trying to see, but it was not what they had wanted to see.

Gamora was correct,as she assured herself, and then realized her answer with dread as she turned to Fury.

* * *

_"You see this button here?" _

_She nodded, letting her lean closer, eyes focusing on the dark, brown, circular button on the upper left corner that Peter nodded to._

_"If we were inside the ship when that isolation-liquid comes out, then we could press it in case we were trapped and needed to get out. It can't be broken otherwise; that stuff is like, planet-dense material. I had to fix it when Yondu had it stolen several years ago, and he taught me all about this kind of stuff." Peter explained, pushing more blankets into the corner of the cockpit. He didn't enjoy recalling his bittersweet memories with Yondu, for he wasn't exactly a father figure. Whether it was a slap on the head or a lesson on stealing, he didn't exactly consider the blue ravager a family member._

_"But what if we aren't in the ship? How would we get back in?" Gamora questioned._

_"Oh. Well that's captain's secret. I can't tell you that because whoever knows will immediately have a terrible curse placed on them." He joked, trying to sound serious as he sat back down in his seat, pressing a few orange and red buttons casually, glancing out of the window._

_"What's the curse?" Playing along, Gamora turned to her side, doing the same fluently in time with Peter's motions._

_"It's the one where you are so good-looking that it's criminal." Struggling to hold in his smile, he pretended to exhale as if to imply he already had it._

_"You should tell me anyways; I'm the co-pilot, I need to make sacrifices that could save our asses in the future."_

_Peter looked at her, still trying to suppress a smile. "Okay then, but I must warn you, I think you already have it."_

_She blushed, but didn't look back at him. He continued anyways, pressing more buttons to angle his ship._

_"I have a button on my person that will allow it to fall if I'm close enough to it when or after it activates. It will always work because it only releases a chemical that causes the material to fall apart, but like I said, only if I'm close enough to it." He finally turned serious, and Gamora fully turned her chair around to face him. He noticed immediately, and finally beamed at her, his teeth almost glowing from the sun as they ascended from yet another planet. _

_They were only on a simple task to pick up a part for the ship that Groot had accidentally broken. He had chosen the wrong time to stand, and when Peter and Gamora warned of a sharp left in escaping fleets of attackers, he slammed into the wall controls near the branched hallways, causing the ship to malfunction every so often. _

_Once, the air cooling system had stopped working, and they suffered a heat-wave in space, forcing them to land in a colder planet to cool down before taking off again. It was then that they all realized that they needed to replace the mainframe, and the current trip was the result._

_'Why don't I have one?" She was asking gently, but was concerned. If the ship crash-landed, and Peter was hurt, how would she be able to separate him if somehow he was inside, injured, and the rest of the crew was not?_

_"There is only one. I didn't have a copilot when I made it."_

_"You made it?"_

_"Sure did." He was still beaming, but in the wrong way._

_"You stole it from Yondu."_

_"Yeah." They both laughed, and Gamora had dropped the subject._

* * *

"Listen, I don't have the device that will deactivate the isolation substances, and I'm afraid I won't even be able to do anything about it until my partner wakes up, and is able to process things internally. Only he knows what and where it is."

"You don't know yourself? What kind of co-pilot are you?" Fury scolded, tilting his head condescendingly.

_A selfish one,_ she thought bitterly. She could not help but feel just as infuriated as Fury was at her; all this time she had been selfish, under a misleading delusion that she could keep Peter safe and the rest of her beloved team after they had defeated Ronan, but here they were and it was her fault. She was too selfish, too guarded to recognize that she was losing her way and it was costing the entire team's safety, specifically Peter's.

"It was not something commonly used, and I know it exists _with_ _him_, but if we search through any of the things he had on him after we crashed, I can tell you that only he will recognize it. You could blow up the ship if you try and use the wrong item." She warned, remembering that Peter was clever with his security precautions that were like booby-traps. Growing up unwanted and a victim, even his digital mask behind his ear had an electrifying shock that he installed if anyone but him attempted to remove it. She remembered when Rocket attempted to steal his mix-tape that was always securely guarded in his vintage player inside the _Milano_.

He had ended up with a swollen eye when a flying rubber band flew at him at a thousand miles an hour as he yanked the tape out of its cozy home.

Gamora was beginning to crumble under her own words. Not only was Peter at risk of potentially dying in his _sleep_, but he was still the only one who could remove the Guardians from this situation. In a grateful way she was glad that only Peter knew. This way, she was sure the ship could not be taken into the humans' possession.

Fury sighed, and ran his hand across his face, muttering something about "this getting better and better" as he began slowly pacing the space in front of the elevator door, eye fixed to the ground.

Gamora watched him, eyeing his firearm that was latched to his right thigh. She felt for her own knives, and felt more stable when the cool blades slid across her fingers.

Tony remained in between the two, unsure of who to watch; the Guardians were now gathered near Gamora as the director seemed to temporarily evacuate the entire situation itself mentally.

"Don't worry, he does this all the time when he can't figure out the next word to his daily crossword puzzle." Tony winked, and copied Gamora after quickly checking her out with a swift gaze from her boots to her long, slightly frazzled hair.

Gamora stepped backwards, closer to her fellow team members, turning back to them with a warning gaze of sternness.

"Why don't you have that device?" Rocket snarled, putting his arms in the air moving closer to her.

"It wasn't important at the time of when he was talking about it." She whispered furiously back.

"Well it is now!" Rocket huffed, and grabbed his head, as if trying to squeeze out a formula for a difficult math problem. Suddenly, he whipped his head up, brown eyes flickering from the Director, Tony, and then Gamora.

"I think I can figure out some sort of chemical that will work to dissolve that stuff if I can get closer to it." He finally said. Just as Gamora was about to voice her opinion against it, Fury spoke up.

"My forces have contained the ship for now, and I suggest that you remain at Stark's tower for the time being until we can get our analysts to figure this out, since none of you are seemingly _that_ close to the _real_ pilot to understand how it works."

Thinking quickly, Gamora motioned for him to stop as the odd pair began moving back into the elevator.

"Wait. I think we may have an idea of how to fix this. I have an offer to make."

Fury almost looked as if he was going to say 'hell no', and continue his way into the elevator until he studied the group for a moment, thinking it over in his head. Rocket growled in protest, throwing her a death-glare that she ignored.

"If we disable the ship's defense coating device within the next few days, you don't take it in captivity so we can fix and exit this planet Earth with our pilot, unharmed, and we'll be out of your business for good."

"Yeah, if you don't send another portal to kill us all afterwards." Rocket added, and was about to say more about his involvement until the director spoke first.

"How do you plan of fixing it?" Fury ignored Rocket, but glowered at him for a long moment as he questioned.

"We have the experience in using the ship in the first place, and can attempt to synthesize a chemical to dissolve it." She gestured to Rocket, who yet again scoffed, mouth agape. Everyone ignored his reactions, and continued.

"Attempt? How do I know that you are telling the truth, and that this isn't some plan to blow us all up?" Tony remained silent, curious to hear what possible concoction could be made to break apart the indestructible substance.

"You don't, but why would we when you have our pilot?" Gamora countered, her words making her crumble even more inside.

After consideration that lasted for what felt like hours of awkward silence, Fury nodded to Tony, who minimized the images of the ship, and began to make his way to the ship, ears still pricked.

"Tomorrow, I will have one of my agents guide you to your vessel, and then we will discuss what further actions need to be taken. Do not leave this tower, or I will be forced to assume that you have malicious intentions, and will therefore be treated as hostile enemies." With that, he backed into the elevator, Stark on his elbow as they stepped inside.

After the doors close shut, and they began descending the tower, Tony spoke up, texting Pepper with a speedy message that he was on his way.

"Why did you say 'tomorrow?'" Tony asked, eyebrows furrowing as he stared at his handheld. _There are aliens in New York, and he doesn't want to shoo them out now?_ He thought with confusion.

"Have you ever been transported to another galaxy, Stark?"

"Well technically-"

"The reason why this is being postponed until tomorrow is because I doubt they are ready to think straight as engineers and as a team. They just got sucked away from their home thanks to your machine into our pitiful, hanging-by-a-thread planet, and it would not surprise me that they are in the least bit traumatized, and rather upset with you."

He had stated the fact as if it were obvious. There was no compassion, no sympathy, just the cold-hard reality. He wanted this done smoothly but if the estranged aliens were put up to the task in their current state, he pictured horrific scenes of a debacle commencing from being on-edge of late, and he certainly knew that New York did not need another fight among the Avengers and more foreign outcasts. Things had taken a turn for the worst and with all of the intensity, Fury only requested that their new "friends" to be able to work efficiently and quickly.

Anthony wondered how the Director could be so unaffected by the aliens' strange ethnicity, but then again, he was not surprised at all.

"Great idea. Now I'll have a big ugly tree trying to strangle me in my sleep while the raccoon makes a mess in the kitchen. Great."

"You have only yourself and the doctor to thank for that." Fury countered, and the elevator blinked to indicate their arrival to the ground floor. Fury stepped out, and Tony sighed, pressing a button that would send him to this garage.

* * *

"What did you do that for? I'm battle-strategy smart but what if I can't create this complex, 'found nowhere but on Peter' of a chemical? These humans are too slow to have even developed the products I would need!" Rocket seethed, scrambling up Groot's long arms to meet Gamora's eye level. Drax only backed off, sensing another fight, and beginning to contract something of a headache.

"It's our _only_ way out of here. What else was I supposed to do?"

"Just let him go and take us to the ship, you _moron_!" He retorted, waving his arms around in time with his swishing tail. Rocket was an expert at not only weaponry, but other areas of study. He was not an expert in chemicals and biological studies, but knew enough to make a bomb, and to dissolve the isolation liquid Peter had implanted in the ship years ago.

"And do what? Just further prove how useless we are in this entire situation?!" She screeched. Storming past all of the Guardians, she strode to the other end of the room, hair flying behind her like slender black flames that licked her shoulders and neck.

Overwhelmed, grieving, and still mentally battling herself about whether to trust the Avengers, she crammed her eyes shut, trying hopelessly to block out everything. She wished this wasn't happening.

She wished Rocket would quit his asshole-attitude.

She wished Groot would speak up for once and defend her.

She wished Drax was the copilot, and not her.

She wished she hadn't fallen in love with Peter, because now, more than the whole galaxy itself, she wanted him here with her. She longed to feel his arms around her, whispering his witty, seductive methods of persuading her to hug him back when she stiffly stood there to tease him. She wished that he would walk in now at this very moment, fully recovered, red jacket zipped up to his perfect form, feet twirling and stepping to his favorite songs on his mix tapes.

She wished the Peter Jason Quill was here to guide her through all of this, leading them out of the cell-like tower and back into the freedom of space, where only the stars had the right to glare and observe their every move.

"I am Groot?" Groot quietly had strode over to her, eyes probing. His branches rested on her shoulders, pushing her hair to her left side of her shoulders, just as Peter did. She recognized the gesture, and turned around to face Groot with fearful eyes, realizing painfully how vulnerable she probably looked. In fact, she hated being this frustrated. Taking on the position of helping Peter had been easier, and much less demanding in every day action; now, trying to do it all herself was proving to be a very difficult job, one that she never dreamed she could succeed at, especially now.

Giving the tree a long gaze of gratefulness, she silently shook her head, and patted his hands. His warm smile made her heart flutter as he hummed in comfort.

The others watched, and soon joined their struggling copilot.

"I'm sorry. I've been a jerk, letting my useless emotions grab me by the balls." Rocket apologized, throwing his gun on the couch before stepping onto Groot's arm to be lifted up to Gamora's height.

"I'm honestly just scared shitless. I don't know whether to shoot these bastards, or just screw it all knowing that Peter is in their hands, and the ship is as good as gone." He admitted, and dipped his head.

Gamora replied, understandingly, "It's not your fault, Rocket. We're all still a little scared, and we all need rest and time to recuperate. You don't need to say your sorry. I've been such a selfish copilot, trying to spend time with Peter has clouded my sense of duties as a leading member of this team, and now I'm paying the price for it."

"No, you're not. We understand, and these things can't be predicted, Gamora." Drax comforted from where he was standing near Groot's other side.

"You're right; we require time to simply recollect ourselves, and continue to get through this without Peter, for now." He concluded, and met each other his friends' gazes before adding, "I'm sure that when he wakes up, he will be proud of us all for figuring through this in the end."

"Technically I'm a copilot too. I know just as much as you do, and it's been my responsibility too, I suppose." Rocket had at first been more experienced than Gamora, but after a few weeks, she soon gained more experience, the controls feeling natural to her, and she began to enjoy maneuvering the ship almost more than Rocket did. She had been the main co-captain as she never wasted a moment with Peter in doing so.

Now, it seems as if it had all been a distant dream that she would never experience again.

The others nodded, and suddenly, they all felt older. A great responsibility and pressure to push through the next few days was impeding on all of them, and it was clear that with or without Peter, they would all do what it takes to try and return to Xandar, to their old lives as soon as possible, making the Avengers enemies _or_ allies along the way.

* * *

Tony picked up Pepper, speeding through traffic lights and slower zones as usual, Happy far behind as he trickled along to the speed limits. Tony briefed her very quickly on the situation, and as they flew straight into the elevator, he advised her to stay in the upper levels, keeping a distance from the Guardians. She protested of course, still upset that he was treating her like a robot that would "sit and stay" wherever it should be.

"I'm not telling you to plant yourself in one spot, I just don't think you want the wicked witch of the west strangling you while you patrol the tower." He said sarcastically, studying at the guardians on a monitor. Pepper behind him and standing on the left side of the massive bed, marking with a fountain pen inside of a leather notepad.

"She can't possibly be like-"

"_Metaphor_, Pepper. I honestly don't trust them as much as my fellow scientist, but I doubt they will leave that room" He turned off the screen, and faced Pepper, who was still in her professional clothing, clutching the notepad once more as if she never left Tony's side when she first confronted him in the workshop.

"I know that you are skeptical, and I am too, but honestly, from what you told me in the car, I don't think they are here to kill us. They look just like you and others," she gently remarked, referring the "others" as the Avengers. "And they seem to be something of a family, or a team, or..._something_." She walked closer to him, setting the pad down on the bed. Placing her hands on his shoulders once again, she searched his eyes, knowing that there would never be fear or almost any sort of emotion, but assurance.

"Tony."

"That's me."

"You have to _promise_ me that after this, you will not build anything else like this, period. This _really_ is not safe, nor normal, to be honest. Even for you." She almost sounded condescending, as if Fury had told her relay the message. However, she was only deeply concerned that even after any of this settled, and hopefully the mysterious pilot was ready to fix the ship that Tony would only see this as a gateway-invention of what his limits weren't, and she feared that he would go for something bigger that would destroy the entire city, and not just one park.

"Unless I need to bring an army to help us defeat another attack that was _not_ caused by me, then you have a done deal." Tony smiled, and backed away from her embrace, as she replied, "I'm still angry at you, you know. Sitting in the safe-house with Happy was unnecessary, despite what happened. He was running around the house and windows like a creeper, or something, whispering through a stupid mini walkie-talkie he gave me, claiming to 'get down under the bed in case the walls were compromised'." She frowned, recalling the rather annoying experience she had with the head of security.

Tony only continued bringing up screens in attempts to do research on the foreigners, smiling to himself as he replied, "Well, maybe he has a crush on you."

"Or he needs to stop dousing himself in his own worry-water." Pepper grabbed the notepad and kissed Tony on the cheek before stepping into the elevator.

"Hey wait-"

Pepper pressed the button and descended, calling Happy to inform him that she was going to Washington DC for yet another meeting with a shareholder, only telling him that "everything is fine, for now".

Tony watched her go with a slump, recognizing that this was her way of rebelling. He exhaled forcefully and brought up a monitor on the side under all of his pulled-up pages, watching her gracefully step outside, Happy opening the car door for her, both cars speeding away with the unseen suitcase in the trunk that Tony had already packed for her.

Happy wasn't driving her to the airport to do to Washington DC, but to an out-of-state safe-house that was located in Boston.

"Boy is she going to be mad."

* * *

This is crazy, Steve thought with a grimace as he threw more well-aimed punches at the punching bag. It was not long ago when he was in the exact same spot, pondering nearly the same things with growing hysteria, only this time, it was as if nothing had changed.

_There are foreign invaders upstairs!_ He thought with even more of a blood-curling internal grumble. He kicked the sand-packed bag to the floor, frustrated with himself.

_Do I trust them? _  
_They don't seem like the killing-types...  
What _are_ they, even?_  
_Are they somewhat human?_  
_Shouldn't I talk to them?_  
_They are the enemies! They are tricking you!_  
_Did Loki send them?_  
_Am I sleeping in the same building as them?!_

Steve growled out loud, shaking his head as he attempted to deal with his ongoing mental struggle. One side of him was completely neutral with the idea of a tree, a talking raccoon, an assassin in green, and a monster in grey staying in the same building with them. They hadn't fired a single bullet, slit one throat, or harmed any of them in any way ever since they had arrived.

_But have they before?_ He thought darkly, trying to push images out of his usually-clear head of what would happen if they somehow got loose like a bunch of animals, slaying every one of his-

_Stop_, he told himself. _Stop! You're being irrational. There is no way that this is going to happen; they may be scared or angry, but so far, they seem to care for each other like we do._ His one half was so sure of itself.

_Then why am I still fighting myself about this?_ He sighed, sitting down in front of the other broken punching bags that were scattered in roughly the same spot near the opposite wall of where he was working out.

His other half was still incredibly skeptical of them entirely. _They did this on purpose, _he snarled internally at himself._ They are here for a set purpose, and not all of them would have made it if it weren't so. We need to act now and inform the Director that they should be locked up until the time being. _It repeated like a steady song reeling in his mind of well-oiled gears and cogs.

_But they are still living beings. Surely they don't need to be locked up? _Steve sighed heavily, remembering when things like this would only be in his dreams, and he would be thankful that situation like this could never happen. _But there is an entire galaxy and universe that contains other species like these..._

The captain began to pick up his mess, sweeping the sand and tossing the broken bags into a dumpster-sized trash can that was regularly emptied when Steve was in the makeshift gym. He continued to grumble to himself, so conflicted and caught in his own web of emotions that he didn't realize that Bruce had walked into the room, wearing a humorous outfit that Steve assumed were his working-out clothes.

In fact, it was so outstanding that it silenced his thoughts for just a moment as he stared at him, smirking lightly.

"What?" Bruce asked, arms twitching upwards as he raised his eyebrows. He was wearing white, worn-out tennis shoes with grey socks that scrunched at the bottom in a crinkled fashion. His white shorts were just above his knees, as if they were too short for him, and his matching t-shirt that looked much like Steve's old military ones was too large for him in the chest, giving him a failed-recruit look. His hair was pushed upwards with a grey headband, making his forehead seem larger compared to his head, as if he was wearing prosthetics.

Steve only chuckled, and replied, "You look even dorkier than I usually do with that get-up, doctor." Bruce gazed at himself, and sighed, rolling his head around, running a hand through his thick, mousy hair.

"I had thought no one was going to be down here."

"Well, I'm glad you did, because maybe you being here can distract me from tearing my own head apart."

Bruce only smiled knowingly, understanding the feeling.

"Shoot." He added, sitting down across the room on a wooden bench that creaked as he did so. Bruce sat up straight, eager to listen as a friend.

"I've been thinking about what everyone else in this madhouse has been thinking about for the last hour, and I can't come to the decision of whether to trust those...people, or to get the suit on and kick some butt." The tall captain sat down too, unwrapping his bandages on his knuckles, waiting to hear what the professional had to advise. He was surprised at how easily the words came out, but knew that after thinking so long about it, he didn't have to filter what needed to be said and what didn't.

"Me too. But being a bit of an alien myself, it's like I said before: I doubt they are really here to kill us, and if they were, then I think they would have done so already."

"The other half of me is the one you need to convince." He finished folding the gauze, and leaned back onto a support beam that the opposite bench was bolted to. He gazed at the ground, suddenly fatigued.

"I know, and it's easier for me to say, I suppose."

"What do you mean?"

"You're a soldier, Steve. You always have that strong instinct to not trust foreigners, don't you? I don't. Hell, I'm just a wimpy scientist."

"Wimpy is hardly the word I would use to describe what you did for us when Loki was here." Pause.

"Well, in terms of instinct in the _human_ form, it's the one that comes to mind." Bruce studied Steve carefully, watching his gaze drag down to the concrete as if the answer was there for him, but hidden in plain sight.

"Ever since that day, I guess my mind just took in too much. Now, it's just split in half because one side isn't accustomed to New York being a gateway for aliens." Steve shrugged, meeting Bruce's eyes, nearly taken aback to find him staring.

"I see." He broke it, awkwardly taking interest in the treadmills behind Steve.

"If it makes you feel any better, Tony and I installed extra security precautions after Loki had attacked, so if things go South...well, I guess we have the upper hand." Despite his rather shaky statement, Steve knew it was true. Out of all the places where technology had taken over like an addiction, Anthony's tower was the hotspot, and was amazed at how far he could go into detail in securing the building, let alone one room.

"Yeah, I guess." A passive silence settled once more as the two thought about the next days, and what could possibly happen. Steve tried to picture all of them getting along, something comically cheesy such as eating dinner at a large table, but the other side of him smashed the too-perfect vision with a horrific scene of them all fighting on top of the table, at each others' throats with guns, roots, and knives, snarls and vicious remarks being thrown around like a game of dodge-ball.

"Do you think Fury will try to imprison them?"

"I hope not. Somehow, I doubt that will make anything better. They seem to be doing just fine being held upstairs." As if in a film, he waited for some type of commotion to signal that some sort of fight was going to break out and start a war, throwing away all of his previous words.

There was nothing but silence.

"I agree, but it won't be our decision. Tony updated me that they are supposed to stay here overnight, and possibly fix the ships' recently-activated defense apparatus of some sort."

"What do you mean?" Bruce updated Steve quickly, showing him images of the encased _Milano_. Steve raised his thin eyebrows, impressed.

"So that raccoon-thing is somehow going to...?"

"Make a solution to dissolve it? Yeah, I'm not sure. I don't know if it's going to work, this spaceship is not from here, and I think Fury just bought it so he doesn't have to throw them in some sort of jail." Steve agreed too, and with another sigh, he stood up, still conflicted beyond humanly possible.

"I think I am going for a walk. I need to think. Want to come with me? Maybe dressed in something a little less..."

"Nerdy? Sure." He stood up as well, following the captain out of the lower floors and down the various hallways to the garage. Letting Stark know that they were leaving along with the others, they headed out, eager to escape the infested tower.

* * *

Gamora breathed heavily, recalling Drax's words and her own in her head. _We require time to simply recollect ourselves, and continue to get through this ourselves, without Peter, for now. _She sat on her bed, all of the Guardians in their respective rooms, each pondering about the future, and what lie ahead.

_Will we need to fight?_  
_How can we trust them?_  
_Can we escape as unscathed as we came here?_  
_Is there even a need to escape?_  
_What would happen if they needed to be taken into a prison?_  
_Are they in some sort of a prison now?_

Gamora tried to organize her thoughts like priorities. Which made more sense to figure out? Which were vital in answering first?

She closed her eyes, but reopened them when a stunningly-clear image of Peter appeared in his red blazer, smiling and pretending to shoot her with his fingers pointed at her like guns playfully.

Gasping, she stood up, and shoved the image away. _I need to focus. Focus! _She steadied herself, and bore her gaze into the wall, deep in thought.

_I need to trust these Terrans. They are our only chance of getting back to Xandar, and they seem peaceful enough. They haven't tried to kill us, nor herd us into some prison, yet._

The last word switched her mind from one side to another like turning off a light, her dark thoughts surfacing. _If they are waiting for some sort of appropriate time, then we need to be ready. What if they try to kidnap one of us while we sleep? Should we sleep? Would we need to stand guard at the elevator tonight?_

After debating with herself, she knew the answer was that they simply needed to wait, and not necessarily do what they are told, but to obey cautiously. She knew that this internal struggle could not continue long, otherwise, they would never make it to where they needed to go: away.

* * *

_Man, this blows,_ I thought bitterly. I tapped my gun protectively, wary of some idiot jumping from under the bed or something and taking it away from me, which won't ever happen because I'm too much of a badass, not a clumsy-ass. _Why aren't we trying to break out of this prison like we did at the Kyln?_

I slung my heavy weapon onto my back, peeking through the tall window, studying all of these stupid, glass buildings that looked so unstable. There was much less walking around done, compared to other planets. Everyone was driving these big ugly four-wheelers that trapped all of the air inside, making them feel cramped. I scowled out loud, recalling my glorious car-ride with those losers.

_They even wear seat-belts in day-to-day driving? What the hell?_ I was punished for my thoughts by a wave of guilt. Peter wasn't wearing his out of his anger at me, and I hadn't told the damn idiot to put it back on before he got himself killed. _Now, Gamora is probably going to kill me when we get out of this clusterfuck of a situation. _Of course I felt bad-heck, I felt like I would rather be in that bed than Peter. I was a crappy co-pilot, and Peter would at least know what to do. _I can't even think straight with all of these strange scents and thick-skinned assholes on my butt every time I talk. Haven't they ever heard something speak before?_

I closed the blinds, scoffing at how plain and stupid humans seemed to be. _This...fur-like shit on the ground must suck in all of the dirt and dust; why is this here_? Although I was impressed only slightly at the technology that short guy pulled moments ago with the one-eye, I was still astonished they don't seem to travel by space whatsoever. _What, they thought they were the center of the goddamned universe?_

I walked back out to where the couch was, catching Groot munching on the tiny plant again that was barely as big as me.

"What-ah well, I don't give a crap. Munch away you big crack-head." I waved away his confused gaze, and jumped onto the kitchen counter, trying to think of what I might need for the chemical for the _Milano_.

_Acid, acid, more acid..._

* * *

Drax looked out of window, staring at all of the lights, cars, and human-made roads. Compared to other planets, everything here seemed so...underdeveloped? Drax scoffed, and looked around his room with mild interest. Picking up the bed with one hand, he peered under it, then set it down gently as his boots made slight tracks in the carpet. Opening the bathroom door, he peaked inside, nearly breaking the doorknob as he leaned on it while looking inside.

_Every object is so neatly arranged_, he thought with another huff.

Closing the door, he gazed at the too-large dresser with curiosity, but confusion.

_Why is this so big? Who had this much stuff? Are they for weapons and armor? _He pulled open the drawers, their emptiness further confusing him. _It must be for other Terrans..._He concluded, slamming them shut with unintended force. Drax was not as conflicted as the other Guardians, to his surprise. He was sure that if they had not harmed them, threatened them with physical force, nor attacked them then the skies were clear, and no real threat was for sure. He continuously catches the others in deep thoughts from their strained looks and stiff posture, most likely thinking about whether to trust the Avengers, but he was already so sure.

Why were they overthinking this so much? No one was allies, that was for sure, but they were a team, just like the Guardians, so they had common ground, despite being from different planets and galaxies entirely.

Drax explored his room for a few moments longer, pulling the empty closet open and squeezing the massive pillows before walking out of his cramped room. He met Rocket and Groot lounging around the couch, Rocket currently scolding the tree for something unintelligible, yet again. Gamora was nowhere to be seen, so he guessed that she had locked herself into her domain, thinking not just about Peter.

Walking right up to Rocket and the sentient tree, who was giving Rocket a pair of confused, wide, black-eyed stare, he asked bluntly, "Do you trust these Terrans completely?"

Rocket stopped his scolding, and Groot nodded, smiling at Drax. He looked to Rocket, who only crossed his arms and snarled, whiskers twitching as his tail swished back and forth aggressively. "Sort 'ah. They're a bunch of ass-wipes, but they don't seem too bad. But I swear if one of them pulls out a weapon, I'll blow them to kingdom come." He pumped his fist into this palm, making a satisfying 'thlank' sound as he spoke.

"I am Groot?"

"She's in her chambers. I think she needs more time than all of us. There must be a lot in her mind.'' Drax answered, eating more fruit from the fridge. He tossed more to Rocket as Groot shoved three apples into his mouth, stretching his limbs to raid the food storage device.

* * *

"I think we need to talk to them. At least establish a name-to-name basis. We can't just make them think we hate them, and need to be hostile about their stay." Bruce sipped his coffee, enjoying the sharp scent that filled his nostrils, clearing his mind. Steve picked at his pie, and placed the fork down gently, the 'clink' barely resonating from the booth.

They both sat at a corner of a cafe around the block of the tower, not far from it in case anything happened. For Steve and the doctor, it was as good of an escape a hero could receive. They breathed in the calm atmosphere, watching people get on with their lives, almost wishing they were living one as well.

"Don't you think that might not end well?"

"We can't all talk to them at once, otherwise they might get the impression we are trying to ambush them." Bruce explained, swallowing his beverage, gazing out of this window instinctively, Steve doing the same, pushing his slice of half-eaten pie away.

"I can see your point. There is seven of us, and four of them. Five if you count the knocked-out one in the ward." Steve added awkwardly, taking a sip of his own beverage.

They had been discussing options as far as trying to get somewhere other than in the direction of "tense and hostile" for the past few minutes, enjoying the hospitality of each other's company and of the cafe itself. Bruce changed into his khakis and a button-up shirt with a light sweater pulled over it. Because it was in the middle of winter, Steve was wearing his windbreaker, its comfort hugging his muscular figure as he sported a dark hat to hide part of his face.

"Who is that guy anyways? I mean I know he is the pilot of that ship, but he's apparently-"

"Half-human?"

"Yeah. I'm curious to take a closer look at him when he's awake."

Steve turned himself to look at Bruce, raised eyebrows and a questioning expression planted on his rectangular face he asked, "Do you think he'll wake up in a full state of mind?"

"Maybe. I hope so because I'm really curious."

"Why don't you just look at him now?"

"Well, I try not to examine people when they're unconscious. It's creepy, awkward if they wake up, and I always considered it sort of rude. Plus, I can ask questions if I need to." Bruce admitted, and took another sip of coffee, muttering a 'thanks' to the waitress who had filled it seconds ago. He always kept his morals in check, despite the situation they were in.

"I see. I guess that makes sense. What if he wakes up a vegetable?"

"Then I guess we're out of luck." Bruce halfheartedly shrugged, but he hoped that would not happen, for the Avengers sake. _If that pilot doesn't make it, we're in deep trouble with those aliens who like him,_ he thought darkly.

'If he does, do you think we'll have to...you know?" He lowered his voice. He hated killing in general, but if it came down to it, he knew what grief and loss does to someone, especially if it was technically caused by someone else. He knew that vengeance was something that was hardly stopped without some sort of sacrifice, and he was not prepared to even consider what that might be.

"I can always hope, captain, but at this point, no option is impossible." They both agreed silently and left the cafe with generous tips and more friendly nods to the staff, both holding the rooted hope that all of this would simply pass over in a few days.

* * *

As the Avengers and Guardians both battled internally about their counterparts, they eventually settled at the tower at one point. As night began to grasp the skies, and the clouds parted to reveal the minuscule stars, the Guardians began to grow restless after remaining in the tower as the Avengers grew tired of avoiding the Guardians, pretending to carry on daily activities and avoid the subject, once in a while discussing options, but still leaving the subject hanging in the air.

Pepper spent several minutes unleashing her wrath upon Tony about his stunt before she left, and had taken it out on Happy later, who could only shrug pathetically and nod in the background. At one point during the heated conversation, Anthony thought her hair would burst into flames, eyes turning into black orbs as she set him on fire from where he stood in his suite.

"I'm just saying, we could sneak down and just shake him a little, maybe even pull some of his hair out, you know?" Rocket proposed, discussing breaking out of the room for the upteenth time.

"Rocket, we need to stay here if we are to earn these humans' trust. Besides, we don't know our way around here." She tried to remember the walk from where Tony had led them, but it seemed like days ago.

"I never thought I would say this to you, but you have absol-"

Rocket was interrupted by an elevator door opening. Two men stepped out, one rather short, the other taller and built like a soldier.

The Guardians stared, analyzing them like enemies, but not with harsh glares. Steve stepped closer, hands out of his pockets as the scientist did the same.

"We're just here to...talk." At first, Steve completely regretted the idea as he stood there thinking he sounded stupid, wanting to turn back around and slide into the elevator. Bruce thought the same thing, but they continued because the awkward silence was becoming far too dense.

"What for?" Gamora asked, standing from the couch, hair now wrapped in a tight ponytail.

Steve briefly took in her perfect curves and leather pants before answering almost too quickly, "Just to... draw a baseline for understanding each other?"

The Guardians exchanged baffled looks. Although restless and ready for action, they thought this sounded almost as stupid as it did suspicious. _Why would they only send two? Where were the rest of their friends?_ Drax thought along with Gamora.

"Our other friends are still in the tower, but we just wanted to talk to you alone." Bruce added quickly, trying to smile and salvage the proposal. He only ended up sporting more of a grimace and had to admit that he felt a little strange, just waltzing in, offering to sit down and chat, but he and Steve could not think of a better alternative.

"We promise we're just here to socialize as equal beings." Steve commented, earning a grateful glance from the doctor. Rocket growled and then scurried his way over to the pair, staring up at them defiantly, spine stretching as tall as it would go, teeth bared.

"If you even think about calling me a rodent, vermin, or any other _stupid_ name, then I will throw you and your friend here out of the window like taking out the trash, understand?" He threatened, pointing at the glass with ferocity.

Steve and Bruce raised their eyebrows, but both agreed, trying not to smirk.

Rocket backed up towards Groot, never taking his eyes off of the strange pair, and asked, "Well, are you going to sit down or just stand there like a bunch of losers?"

_This is going to be fun,_ Steve thought. They trudged to the long couch, the Guardians sitting on the opposite side, Groot lounging in a large chair that faced them directly, like a therapist.

"So, what do you want to know?" Drax asked, placing his elbows on his knees, hands folded, training his steely gaze on them, much like a therapist as well.

They started off asking simple questions; where they were from, what they did, and who they specifically were the first to become exchanged. Steve and Bruce were able to piece together that they were just like themselves, but instead of peace-keeping on Earth, they did so in the entire galaxy. The mood significantly lightened after Bruce and Steve explained that they did the same thing as the Guardians, but on Earth, keeping track of imbalances that went off on SHEILD's radar every so often.

However, although the Guardians felt a little closer to the Avengers with the sharing of free and open confirmation, the mood took a dip when Tony's creation was mentioned.

"About a year ago, we had a guy named Loki from Asgard who sought to bring war on Earth, and claim to be its king. As a security measure, Tony and I had built this device as a sort of 'window', so to speak, to keep an eye on any place in the universe. I realize now that it would be pointless, given that we don't even know the planets other than our own solar system, which apparently is a fraction of is really out there." Bruce admitted guiltily, Steve only frowned slightly, but added, "It wasn't their fault. Tony is ambitious and although a genius-"

"Wait, _what_? A genius?" Rocket scoffed, walking closer from where he sat next to Gamora on the couch.

"He sure doesn't sound like one. Why is he so sugar-coated all of a sudden?" Rocket inquired, his usual grit in his voice apparent.

"He created a new element and as you can probably tell, has a way with technology. This tower is the most advanced example in safe energy and efficient power, and is the only place on Earth where an artificial intelligence serves as a host." Bruce explained with a small shrug. He had explained earlier what JARVIS was, and therefore it was now fully understood any confusion that Drax had as to why Tony would talk to his ceiling, or the walls.

"Ha, yeah right. You have _no_ idea how advanced things are everywhere else. You guys may be close, but you're still way behind." Rocket huffed, and crossed his arms.

"I hear you are going to fix your ship. Do you have a plan?" Steve asked, forehead creased.

"To be honest pretty boy, I doubt this _rock_ of a planet has what I need. Even if I did make it, there wouldn't be enough to dislodge the ship's opening to get inside and disable it. There's also probably no power in that thing, now that it's crashed. "

Steve ignored the insult and looked to Bruce for reassurance, but he only shrugged, agreeing that it was probably true. From what he had heard so far, even the air they breathe was different, let alone any substances people drank, used, or ate. Gamora and Drax had asked why they felt so heavy, and Bruce guess that it was because of the gravity changes based on where she had explained they had come from.

"Then what is the solution to all of this?" Steve looked around, and no one had a straight answer. The issue of trust was now evaporated, as the doctor and captain established common ground, and knew now that the "aliens" and the Avengers were one in the same, fighting for a common purpose; they just happened to land on the right side of the galaxy, and into somewhat welcoming arms.

"We need to wait for our pilot, Peter Quill, to get his ass up from that bed." Rocket growled, unfolding his arms and pointing below him.

"That's his name, Peter Quill? How can he possibly be..._not_ a full human?" Bruce asked, leaning forward expectantly, trying not to use the word 'alien'.

"We're not sure. His father is nowhere to be found, and we were searching for him when we were abducted into here." Drax answered, sensing Gamora's comfort level depleting.

"I am Groot." The tree made a gesture with his hands as if making a rainbow over his head with both palms.

"He is supposed to be from an ancient race that is pretty powerful, but I guess his human side is taking the blame for his injuries this time around." Rocket translated.

"So will he be fine?"

"Maybe. He held the infinity stone for quite a long time, so one would think he could withstand a blow to the head, and a bone injury." Drax answered quietly. They all took turns explaining how they stopped Ronan, and what the infinity stones were, and how powerful they were and how they had saved Peter by joining hands. They had earned a reputation for being the most powerful team in the galaxy but obviously, not all corners of _all_ galaxies had received the news.

The clock read 10:42 pm. They had been talking for at least two hours.

Gamora found it almost funny that he had injured his pelvis, as she recalled the first time he let her listen to his treasured player, claiming it was sorcery. She supposed he would not be able to dance for a while if he had a hole in him, such as this. She hadn't spoken as much as the others, only listening intently, watching the pair of "Avengers", as they called themselves.

She stood up abruptly, and then locked eyes shortly with her allies in the room. "I'm sorry. I'm uh...a little tired. I'm sorry." She turned away and strode quickly to her room, embarrassed as her cheeks flushed and her hair flayed behind her. Steve couldn't take his eyes off of her as she left in a hurry, concern etched onto his face.

Something inside of him stirred, something that hasn't stirred in a very long time. Bruce raised his eyebrows for what seemed like the tenth time today as he watched Steve for a moment before addressing the sitting tree, putting his anxious thoughts aside.

"Does he say anything other than that?"

"Nope. His vocabulary is the only thing that is stumped, but he's more than just some idiot of a tree. He's been my muscle for the past several years, even before I met these losers." Rocket explained as Groot blinked, frowning at Rocket for insulting the other Guardians.

Bruce chuckled, amazed; he could not believe this was happening! A talking space-alien that looked like a raccoon was here, translating what a massive, intelligent, walking plant was saying.

The Guardians did not share anything personal with the two heroes, just their basic background and history up to the crash. It was strange, not having Peter there because they knew he had the most to relay and share with his childish behavior that always found a way to be entertaining and yet completely sane. His absence was obvious, as if there was a gaping hole in their interlocking stories, which there was. They had all mentioned him more than once, but he was not there to serve as the link that was missing from their lives.

"Cool." Steve breathed, watching Groot with fascination. After a few more questions, mostly asking what Rocket was and what Drax had all over his body, in which he answered, 'tribal tattoos', and what they ate on a normal basis, Steve and Bruce declared that they were going to bed, claiming that it was late, apologizing for keeping the Guardians up late in an oddly friendly manner that he would never have guessed he would have pronounced in such a sincere way to such allies that were made in such few conversations.

It was strange for him, knowing that in just a few hours, they had become comfortable with the new foreigners, and how close they seemed after realized that they had so much in common. He remembered distinctly how she had told them what Peter said before they knew they were going to defeat Ronan for sure; they were all losers, but that day had given them a chance to care, and to unite as one to defeat the worst of all evils.

Both Steve and Bruce realized that they too, were losers. They had united and carried out the same actions to stop the misguided Loki, uniting gods, soldier, scientists, and technology-wit to defeat him and his army. _Dancing was apparently a form of wit when outsmarting powerful foes,_ Steve thought humorously.

"We'll see you tomorrow, I guess?" Bruce awkwardly said as they left, leaving the Guardians where they sat, watching them leave tentatively.

"Tomorrow we shall." Drax answered, smiling. Rocket rolled his eyes at the brute, as Groot waved.

They both stepped into the elevator. Bruce remarked, amazed and not in the least bit tired, "That was different."

"Yeah..." Steve wasn't looking at him, but was studying the elevator doors, eyes distant rather than weary.

"Steve?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Sure." He nodded, blinking a few times, completely unaware of what the scientist asked. Bruce shot him a confused but teasing look of interest.

"Where you..._checking_ _out_ that gal with the green skin?" His face screwed up into a disbelieving smile, waiting with awe for the steadfast captain's response.

"You mean Gamora?"

"Yeah."

"No. She just...caught my attention for a second. I think it's just her dyed hair or-"

"Oh man, you _were_, weren't you?" Bruce nudged him with his elbow, turning to face him completely, a grin wider than his cheeks could handle.

"_Man_ Steve, you have exotic tastes and you better hope that pilot doesn't wake up anytime soon." Bruce laughed, rocking on his heels as he watched Steve turn a cherry-like color, shrinking away while trying to deny it.

"No! I told you I think it's just the skin or maybe the hair or the way she wasn't so-"

"Steve, I gotta say, I am surprised. You don't seem like the alien-dating type." Bruce joked, still laughing as he almost fell over from snickering.

"I am _not_ interested in her. Peggy is still mine and I will never betray her. Besides, I'm pretty sure she wouldn't leave that pilot either. Peter Quill, right?" He steadied himself, forcing his face to remain stone-like as his cheeks faded into normal colors again. Bruce shook his head, commenting, "I guess. She didn't look too happy back there."

_No, she didn't,_ Steve thought sadly. The elevator indicated that Bruce had arrived to his corresponding floor, and Steve waved goodbye, thanking him for accompanying him. With a brief 'no problem', he strode down the hallway, hands in his trouser pockets, head dipped, as usual, still grinning.

Steve let the elevator doors close, but he didn't press the button to his floor.

_What if._..Steve almost slapped himself, attempting to plunge his own thoughts. _You are not going to think this. Stop, you just thought she was hot for an alien, and that is it. She is in love with that Peter, and it will stay that way._

However, as Steve slammed his fingers into the corresponding button, he cursed at himself; as he thought about his last internal statement, his stomach flopped in jealousy.

_This can't be happening to me._

* * *

The Guardians dispersed into their rooms, at first wanting to try and do something of sleeping, abruptly exhausted beyond what seemed physically possible.

Gamora sat in her room, arms crossed, standing as she stared out of the window, pretending to focus on the street lights. She knew now that the weight of deciding whether to trust the Avengers had been lifted, and though it was mostly resolved as well as he questioning of why she felt like a ton of bricks the moment she stepped onto Earth, she still felt like the gravity was going to pull her down into the depths of the planet, trapping her forever, away from her fellow Guardians, away from her home-galaxy, and away from Peter.

Peter. Starlord. The names rang in her mind like church bells, over and over their soft and powerful melodies bouncing around people's minds. She knew that being a leader meant looking out for her companions, making sure every tiny detail was in place before taking off or planning the next action, putting everyone else's needs before hers, and remaining stone-faced and emotionless as possible. She knew what emotion did to assassins like her; it made them soft, made them forget what their mission was and what they stood for. _No connections,_ she always told herself, physical or emotional.

_Don't look at them in the eyes, only when your blade passes through it._

_You cannot see them for more than what they are, a criminal; a target._

_No distractions, and most importantly, no communicating. _

Despite her understanding of herself that she was no longer an assassin, she still considered herself failing at keeping them away from something like this, and she was only trying to remain above the vast ocean of guilt that wanted to pull her under like a crumbling, dull rock. Staying strong was and still is her most-developed skill-set, and it never wavered until she had met Peter. She knew that beyond the ship and the Guardians, her life was still incomplete, just as Peter's.

Her "sister", Nebula was still out for Thanos, and although her criminal record was no more, the guilt of killing many before Ronan weighed heavily on her, even _before_ she had met Peter and the others. Even then, she barely held herself together, only using her self-hate to kill more, which she still couldn't process how her mind had been caught-up in that cycle.

She slammed her fist on the small night-stand to her right, leaving four large cracks that sprouted from where she came in contact with the mahogany. A single tear fell from her face as she closed her eyes. Furiously wiping it away with the same hand she sat back down, releasing her hair from the ponytail and grabbing it with both palms, digging her fingers in it as she began tugging, eyes closed tightly. Her tear made a dark spot on the light-brown carpet and she opened her eyes momentarily, staring at it with more loathe at herself and her actions than anything else.

She didn't even think about what would happen if Peter did not return. Just the thought still made her cringe, and made her want to flee the room to escape into the night air. She could still remember when she first met him. As soon as he backed away from the trader's entrance at the capitol of the Nova, she thought he was rather stunning for a human.

But even then, he was still a target. It was later in the Kyln when he was the only one who had the upper hand on her for just a moment as Drax held her at his vengeful fists, when something slammed into her harder than any punch, kick, slap, or flying object could ever do. At the time, she ignored it but eventually she succumbed, falling in love instantaneously with the infamous and mighty Starlord.

It scared her how fast it had all happened at first, but eventually they eased into something that seemed more powerful than any stone, it seemed. But now, what seemed even so perfect and solid was the chance that Peter would never be with her again, that he would never return to the peace-keeping role of Starlord, and never look at Gamora the same way again. One small action had caused the downfall of her relationship with him in just seconds, and she considered it was fate slapping her in the face, telling her that she was not simply allowed to be free of punishment of her past crimes.

Inhaling sharply, she once again sealed her brief cracking of her emotional shell, and instinctively walked out of the room, not wanting to stay in a small, confined area to sleep. Turning the doorknob gingerly, she opened it slowly, assuming all of her guardians were already asleep; she was wrong. They were spread out in the dimly-lit berth. She almost smiled, realizing that no one must have wanted to be separate, even for just a moment.

Groot's roots had grasped the end of the couch as he leaned his wide back against it, head dipped downwards. Rocket was splayed with his mouth open, whiskers twitching with each breath as he lay silently near Groot's left leg, behind the couch, closest to the elevator. Drax lay parallel to the coffee table, arms crossed, legs straight ahead as if he were to be put in a coffin. Gamora sat on the couch, feet towards Groot's branched-out limbs. Letting herself fall, she rested her head on the arm rest on the leather couch, closing her eyes as she fell rapidly into a deep sleep, Drax's rising chest the last thing she saw before letting darkness take over.

* * *

_Water lapped at her face and clogged ears, slapping her pointed cheeks as the waves dragged her under. She could feel something pulling at her ankles. Gasping, she tried to search for land, trying to defy the ice-cold water that seeped into her nerves, almost paralyzing her. Trying to flap her arms in the black water to swim, she didn't see any land, ship, or vessel. No sign of life, only thunder and flashing lightning._

_The dark, vicious water was trying to suck her under and into the depths as her mouth filled with sour-tasting water that made her lungs and throat burn, as if she was swallowing acid. _

I am drowning! Help!

_But she knew she didn't deserve help. More waves crashed onto her, forcing her head to snap backwards, liquid filling her nose and throat once more, her limbs proving to be useless against the force of the massive ocean. She was yanked under, watching the surface of the water move farther and farther away from her as he sunk, air flying out of her lungs as if the water stole it from her, punishing her for her lack of responsibility, for not settling Rocket and Peter's argument, for letting Peter die-_

* * *

Gamora woke with a start, sitting straight up, gasping for air, her hands flying to her throat as she stood up, checking her pulse, her muscles, and her brain functions to make sure she was still alive. Still gasping, she looked towards the elevator, aware of the sun just starting to set.

She wondered how such a short, yet realistic nightmare could have carried her all through the night. The orange rays seemed weaker than what she had witnessed on other planets, but those worlds seemed far away, and she figured that it was still beautiful.

Pulling her hair into a ponytail once more, she didn't feel like sleeping, her beaded sweat still sticking to her shoulders and neck. She didn't even remember taking off her jacket, which lay on the ground near the coffee table. The others were still sleeping, and Groot's thin branches had spread to nearly half of the entire couch. Everyone was still in the exact same position as Gamora had remembered, soft snores indicating that no one had heard her. She blinked a few times, her heaviness sensation still new to her. She did not feel much better from yesterday, and she suddenly felt a strong urge to step into the elevator and visit Peter.

She did not want to risk crossing the temporary treaty they had with the Avengers, but it was a _very_ strong urge. She shook her head and silently padded to the fridge instead, hunger clawing at her stomach rather abruptly, as if to distract her. Opening it, she realized that it was full again from last night, when they had emptied it entirely of its known contents. Curious as to who had filled it, she furrowed her eyebrows, grabbing an orange and peeling it with graceful movements of her knife, shutting it with her foot as quietly as she could, checking on her team members with scanning eyes.

Just then, the elevator doors slide open, and although it was silent, her hearing never betrayed her.

Steve walked quietly in the room, fully dressed, a large box in his hands that covered nearly his whole upper body. He peeked up from the brown object in his hands, eyes just peeking over the top edge of the box like a startled deer in the road. He stopped in his tracks, nearly dropping the box in the process.

Gamora only stared at him as an awkward yet peaceful silence fell as Steve set down the box, apples and other assortments of various foods nearly arranged, filling the box completely. It looked rather heavy, and Gamora took notice of his bulging arms as he did so, watching him carefully.

"Did I wake you?"


	5. Communications and Disappearances

**I want to apologize for publishing this late. This chapter was constantly being changed and it took me a while to really map it all out and fold it as logically as possible. Thank you for your patience.**

* * *

"No." The startled assassin answered, alternating her gaze from the box to my face.

I internally punched myself for getting caught in the suspicious spotlight. I was tempted to pick up the box and leave it, then run back into the elevator but I guessed that she would think I was crazy and a coward.

"Oh. Great. Good morning then." I offered her a small smile instead, careful to remain quiet in the sleeping environment. I wondered why they chose to sleep on the ground in this area, and not in their separate rooms. However, I didn't mention it.

"I brought more rations based on what you told Bruce and I last night. I already came up here once and was hoping to drop this off and load that, " he nodded to the fridge, "before anyone woke up." I winced as she only stared at me,a peeled orange and knife in her lithe hands. I held my smile, probably trying too hard to seem friendly.

"Why are you up so early?" I slid the food on the counter as she moved away, the orange still in hand.

"Early? Is this time considered early on this planet?" Gamora asked me, eyes bearing into me as I loaded the fridge swiftly and quietly, occasionally glancing up at her rich emerald, pointed face.

"Not around here. As a team that saves lives, we're constantly up all day just out of habit I suppose. A group consisting of assassins, doctors, and soldiers means early starts, I suppose." I answered, placing the bread and jam on the counter space nearest to the freezer. I was surprised they had heard of such basic human rations, but then I remembered that if Peter was at least from here, he must have told them about it even if he was much younger at the time.

"I do not wish to waste the daylight." She sounded as if she wished she could, as if it was a _burden _to salvage the hours, like a duty that she had been forced into. There was some sort of personal meaning for herself in her first sentence but I couldn't tell what it was. It sounded much like a reminder of some sort.

I shut the fridge, and turned to look at her fully, trying to analyze her. She was still wearing the same clothing as the other night, but her red leather jacket was nowhere to be seen.

"I'm sorry Tony and the Director has you all stuffed up here like prisoners. I hope that's not the vibe you received when the Director was here." I stated sadly, knowing that it probably was as I gazed at the sleeping tree named Groot. My jaw almost dropped when I saw that _branches_ seemed to be eating the couch like a parasite.

Gamora caught my reaction, and turned back quickly, catching what I was staring at.

"That tends to happen when he sleeps. Sometimes I wished it didn't. He once grabbed my ankle at night and scared me half to death." Gamora looked at me with a small smile, clearly undefended at my intrusion; though I imagined she didn't have much of a choice, for this wasn't exactly their home. She had taken a bite from the orange like an apple, the concept of peeling it apart seemingly new to her.

"What?" Her dark eyes studying me with her death stare once more as she swallowed.

"It's just...most people eat those by pulling it apart into pieces." _I am such a great conversation starter. _I mentally slapped myself again, knowing that perhaps where she comes from peeling it was not how they consumed them. _But what the hell do I know?_

She tore her stare from me and to the fruit that sat contentedly in her palm, a massive chunk missing from the juicy supplement. My heart started to flip around, bouncing up and-

"Pieces? Isn't that much harder to eat, though?"

"Well, it's-"

Before I could even finish she whipped out her knife and stabbed it multiple times after setting it on the counter, making uneven blocks of squished orange on her side of the counter, juice splattering everywhere. It wasn't loud or violent but swift, graceful and vicious movements that left me wondering how many she had killed before landing here. I was well aware of her past, an image of her graceful movements being utilized to a different use on various beings flashing through my head like a slideshow.

I tried not to think about it. I didn't need to. Laughing instead I rubbed the back of my neck while searching for a towel in nearby drawers. Gamora only stared at it, disappointed as sticky juice dripped from her hands and from the tip of the blade she still held.

"I do not think that is the appropriate method to eating this. Why do you humans have such strange ways of doing things?" She asked me, taking the damp towel I offered after swiping it under cold water a split second before. _I have asked myself the same thing once._

"I'll show you." I reached into the fridge, ignoring my jumping stomach as I grasped an identical orange and began peeling it. Ignoring her observational yet petrifying gaze I continued, stating quietly, "These have a natural shape that just makes it easier to eat and share if you wanted. Most people don't like eating it like an apple because it's more juicy and stringy, I guess." I knew that I was somewhat correct, recalling an earlier debate about it with Thor weeks ago. He had wondered why we took so much time to peel it then pick it apart; he had eaten it just like Gamora had. _I guess I'm just an orange expert._

Finishing, I took apart the fruit slice by slice, occasionally looking up at her, eyes meeting mine for just a split second.

I didn't love her; I really didn't.

"There. See?"

"Why were you smiling?" She asked suddenly. It caught me completely off guard.

"I was just...remembering something. A friend of mine from Asgard, a planet somewhere else where he used to eat these the way you do. He still does."

"What was his name?"

"Thor. He isn't here; he's with his father back on his home planet dealing with some other things a God needs to deal with, I suppose." I replied, reaching across the counter to throw away both of our peels and garbage.

She stared at it with slight wonder. "Oh. I have heard of it, but have never set foot there." I felt proud of myself for some reason, as if I had found a way to communicate. _You're an idiot._

"Who taught you to eat it like that?" I asked, another teasing smirk forming on my face.

"Peter. He told me that it was how _he_ ate them when he was child and he still does." She began to form something of a soft smile, her eyes becoming slightly distant; but then her face suddenly grew stone-like as she looked back up at me. She swiftly began cleaning up the rest of her own mess as well as her knife with the towel, becoming silent and literally leaving me with question marks in my eyes.

"He sounds like a bit...different." I remarked carefully, definitely wary of insulting him in front of her.

"He is. He always had a way with words, too." She smiled again, her perfect teeth producing a white line across her angular face that quikly disappeared as it had appeared.

The sun in the windows had spread to the small hallway that created a rich, crimson glaze that barely kissed the end of the couch, signaling that it was almost time for New York city to come back to life once more.

Gamora turned around, catching a glimpse of the rays herself and walked back towards the window, stepping into the warmth of the fierce light. Her skin clashed with the colors of the rays, almost producing a different shade entirely as she squinted, the red ends of her hair catching the light like fire that sprouted at the tips. Scanning, she remained where she was when I joined her, looking out onto the city and taking in the sparkling skyscrapers that winked at us from every angle.

"Is it always this bright?"

"Yeah. Sometimes the clouds get in the way, but the sun is pretty uh...bright." I finished awkwardly, unable to access more advanced vocabulary.

"Huh." She still stood where she was but she soon turned the other way 180 degrees, the sun now facing her back as she leaned on the railing that provided a blockade to the glass. I did not turn away. The sun was always mesmerizing to me but I guess to her it wasn't all that fascinating. She had been to space and back, traveling in other galaxies and planets and meeting all kinds of species and land, so I supposed one other planet was nothing of particular interest. I assumed she felt that way about me, too. I was just another "Terran", as she had called Bruce and I before explaining that was what we were classified under in her language.

"Gamora, how long have you and the Guardians been together?"

She paused before answering, recalling the years I suppose. "About three, now."

"How long have Peter and you been together?" For a moment I had panicked that I had gone too far seeing as we have only known each other for barely an entire day but she didn't flinch.

"About three years. We became closer after defeating Ronan." She answered quietly.

"Are you worried that he won't remember anything when he wakes up?"

"Of course. I don't know what will happen but at this point it's out of my control." She bent her head, taking interest in her boots again. She looked up at me, turning around so she met my eyes. They were so much darker up close, just like-

"Do you have someone you care about?"

"Yes. Her name is Peggy. I met her...well, a very long time ago." She already knew my "isolated-for-70-years" story from last night, and nodded, understanding the strange age gap.

"Do you still love her, despite what has happened?"

"Of course. I never stopped." I held her gaze for a moment longer before adding, "You remind me of her, actually."

She raised her eyebrows, obviously surprised as most humans did not have green skin, work as galactic assassins and co-piloted spaceships.

"She always carried herself as the strongest woman in the world, and she is. She never cursed without reason, was never out of line, and knew how to put someone in their place." I let my eyes fall to the sun-lit city again, my brain rewinding to her sharp uniform, her deep red lipstick and her perfectly-sculpted hair that always made her smile seem wider than possible.

"Peggy always had this evident fierceness in her silence wherever she went. When she first talked to me, I thought that even her voice demanded authority, which it did." I still remember the smell of the car and the sweaty hands I had contracted while attempting to hold a conversation with her. I remember her watching me when I answered and when I was too shy to look her in the eye, let alone carry a smooth conversation with her.

"I doubt I was anything like her. I've killed people, Steve. I'm not a warrior of the virtuous." She commented with a bite in her voice as if she was angry at herself that it was true.

I thought about his reply before answering, already exhausted upon thinking about the touchy subject. In truth, I had spent the last night pondering about the fuzzy area of his mind, trying to dissect the clues that my head and heart was giving me.

"You aren't. But you are. I figured you both had your own methods of being virtuous, that's all. I don't believe in killing someone that has at least tried to change their lifestyle from good to better." I smiled, trying to hint at my thoughts about her.

"I know two assassins that kill enemies every week, more than enough for their moral burden to bear. But I know that they do so because it is for a higher and more important purpose that will benefit most. I am sure that whatever lives you took it was for a higher purpose you had than to simply 'kill for fun', like our last enemy did." I felt a twist in my stomach at Loki's wicked smile as I remembered him zooming around and above the city like a corrupted king, wounding and taking so many lives in such a short time. It reminded me of when I was with Peggy in the pre-war stages preparing for battle, training with my fellow soldiers and trying to salvage whatever good there was left. War and violence is not something I ever felt content with, never let pass without at least some reaction, and this was no exception. It was only something was eventually required to happen for anything to come to an international conclusion.

Gamora was an assassin, and most likely will always have her skill set, but I wasn't going to look at her as the hated warrior she probably already was, but perhaps a leader like myself, just trying to forget my past and trying to snatch away any good thing in my life. Perhaps for her it was Peter, and that was why she was so grave and careful. One wrong move and she supposed everything would fall apart.

"Who are they?"

I was about to answer when the elevator door opened. Two more figures strode through. Unfortunately, I recognized their pissed-off expressions and body language.

* * *

"Steve, what the hell are you doing?" Gamora retracted into a straighter stance from where she was leaning onto the rail, Steve mirroring her.

"We were just talking. I brought some food-"

"Why? Tony specifically said that-" Natasha spat, failing to notice the branches on the couch retracting slowly.

"Tony is not my boss and he permit us access, and _they_," he gestured behind him and to Gamora, "are not prisoners." Steve argued, face stern, his jaw set.

"I do not think that this is a good idea. She could be using you." Hawkeye blatantly stated, nodding towards the green captain.

"Do not speak as if I am not here, Terran." She hissed, and planted her feet where she was. The room suddenly became tenser than the conference room. Two highly-modernized assassins met a weaponized yet recently-retired assassin and captain of a dormant ship, and the Captain felt almost powerless until he quickly stepped in between the two.

"There's no reason to fight here! We can trust them, can't we?" He turned to Gamora, ignoring how her gaze made his heart flip as he remembered how firm it was, just as Peggy's. He really meant what he said earlier, and it was no wonder to him why his feelings for Peggy were near the same for Gamora, but in a different line.

"Yes, as long as it it's all-around and we get our belongings returned to us." She warned, staring down first Steve and then both Clinton and Natasha.

"We'll see about that later. As of now, you are still confined to this tower and although you are welcome here to an extent, we still would like to ensure that the rest of the Avengers are aware of your purpose." Natasha said before Clinton could insult Gamora back after Steve's counter.

"Steve, will you come with us? Bruce wants to talk to you." Natasha began to turn back to the elevator with Steve's reluctant agreement.

She pressed the button as Hawkeye kept his eye on the Guardians. He attempted to do a head count, and realized suddenly that they must have been in their rooms. He began to walk forwards, carefully passing a glaring Gamora who remained where she was, aware that the other must have awakened and were-

"What the hell?! _Stop_!" Hawkeye exclaimed and seemingly lunged for Rocket, who had managed to become elbow-deep into a hole that was roughly punctured over a blinking console near the kitchen counter. Hawkeye's shouts were heard as Gamora whipped quickly around, running to where his cursing was coming from.

Drax and Groot simply had watched as Rocket had carved a hole about the size of his head into the drywall, the large shape laying on the floor as he had begun sorting through wires, the sunlight aiding his sight.

"Stop!" Hawkeye shouted, ignoring the tree and the destroyer as he tried to grab the raccoon-like experiment. Rocket snickered an insult, but managed to back out quickly enough for what happened next.

Rocket hopped off of the counter, scattering up Groot, gun aimed at Hawkeye's head as fast as he whipped out his portable bow and quiver. Groot growled and dipped to a battle stance as Drax followed.

"What is going on here?" Natasha demanded, hands on her gun that was aimed at Rocket. She looked slightly confused, as if she did not know why her instincts had taken over and she was suddenly pointing her gun at an animal.

"This _rodent _is doing something to the technology that God knows what could happen to-" Clinton growled, arrow pointed at Rocket directly as he only snarled back.

"I was just trying t-" Rocket started, but was cut off.

"To escape? I thought you said we could trust them!" Natasha spat at Steve, who was more than dumbfounded. Natasha moved stepped closer to Groot, gun still pointed. She was halted by Draxx, who had only take just one step to be inches from her, a snarl on his not-so-peaceful face.

"Everyone calm down!" Steve begged, trying to use his arms to gesture his demands.

"I wasn't trying to escape you _idiots_, I was just trying to do research-"

"By hacking our internal systems? Why didn't JARVIS alarm us?" Clinton asked skeptically, still as a statue while looking to Natasha for answers.

"First of all, I had built a-"

"Rocket, why would you even try something like that? We're trying to establish some sort of trust here and you don't-" Gamora asked, exasperated already at how the last minutes had gone up in flames already.

"STOP INTERRUPTING ME!" Rocket demanded, cocking his gun as Groot's shoulders began to stiffen, fingers clenched.

"I had built something of a system for communicating last night after everyone went to sleep. Even though we are stuck in his shithole-"

"You're lying; there's no way you could-" Natasha started, rolling her eyes, bitterness dripping from her voice.

"WOULD YOU LET ME FINISH MY GODDAMN SENTENCE, WOMAN?!" Rocket screeched once more. Drax winced and almost covered his ears, remembering that he only yelled when he was yelling at Peter or enemies. Groot's eyes squinted at the sound but he didn't move.

Natasha didn't look offended but Clint did, and exclaimed, "Hey!" about to let loose his arrow.

"I built one last night because as awesome as it is here, I thought I could get a hold of one of our kind in another galaxy by setting up a communication apparatus to get help and hopefully get off of this garbage ball of a planet, but I needed more power and a smoother operating system that _wasn't_ in the kitchen."

"The kitchen?" Steve asked. Everyone glanced at the clean space but wasn't sure what to look for, and Gamora realized with annoyance that he was right.

Rocket had the ability to put together almost anything electronic by scavenging any room or ship and pulling the parts together like a puzzle. Unfortunately, he always destroyed whatever object he took said parts from. In the microwave in the corner there was a gaping hole missing in the side, wires sticking out like an animal had taken a bite out of it. Everyone scanned the room for more missing objects and now that Gamora was doing so, she wondered why she had not noticed this before.

The TV was now crooked and behind it, wires had been unplugged and yanked out along with other various consoles in the systems below it, the objects taken apart as if someone had thrown it around and took it apart piece-by-piece. Gamora scowled, but was curious if Rocket was successful.

"Why are you choosing now to do this?" She asked as calmly as possible.

"Because I fell asleep, duh! Don't you people _think_?" He snarled, still pointing his gun at Natasha.

"How would you know which parts to-" Clinton started.

"Because believe it or not, _ballbrains_, almost all electronically engineering systems operate similarly, despite the fact that this technology is not exactly identical to what I usually work with." Rocket bitterly answered, as if the answer was obvious. Steve frowned and then turned to the assassins, who had seemingly completely ignored Rocket's words. They remained still.

"Natasha, put that away. Clint," Steve requested, sincerely staring her down. She reluctantly lowered it, keeping her eyes trained on Groot as Drax relaxed, backing closer to Rocket as Gamora stood closer to Rocket's left side, in front of Clinton.

He lowered his bow, but was even more reluctant that Natasha, and refused to put away his arrow.

"Show us this 'computer', and then maybe we won't shoot you." Clinton demanded, a frown larger than life on his rounded features.

After a few moments of consideration, he grumbled, "Fine." Rocket lept from Groot's shoulders and ran to his person room and trotted out seconds later, setting the strange object on the kitchen counter near the hole. He plugged in a few wires on hidden holes around the boxed items. It looked like garbage, as if all of the pieces missing form each electronic in the room was just glued together in a massive piece of junk. There was no screen and no key-pad of any sort.

"What the hell is this? This is _not_ a computer." Clint scowled. Natasha agree silently, but was more open minded than Clint.

"It would be if I had more power, shitface." Rocket retorted back, hatred dripping in his tone.

"Stop acting like a child and tell us how this works, Rocket." Gamora commanded with force, Groot about to poke his large head into the "computer" as Drax breathed with amazement.

"Yesterday when that guy commanded his 'JARVIS'," he made condescending quotation symbols with his small fingers, "to bring up the monitors of our ship, I realized that most things were probably wireless here, so I figured establishing a foundation for a communications system would not be difficult, if you knew what you were doing, like me. I scoured this puny room and managed to find the display parts that brought out those screens and projected them to us. I grabbed one near that railing," he gestured quickly to the elevator entrance and continued, fiddling with his device.

"That TV over there had the visual-aid I needed; just the display and audio wasn't going to be enough, and I also needed the joint cords from it. I grabbed a few other things for the basic running and operating for this thing as well as the main interface, which I snatched from that thing over there." He nodded to the consoles under the TV that were currently laying on the floor.

As strange as it sounded, Rocket did manage to build a device, and although the Guardians believed him, for it was not the first time he had done something like this, the Avengers only gaped, trying to figure whether they should go with it or question Rocket again.

"The only problem is that I don't have enough push to get any signal out of this stupid tower let alone planet, so I needed the main connection, which is why I was over there trying to find it before _fattyface_," he gestured to Clinton, "over here stopped me." He finished with a disgruntled voice, hands on his hips, gun resting against his side as he leaned on it casually.

"You couldn't just find a wire and plug it in or something?" Steve inquired, raising his eyebrows.

"Does pretty boy even know a single _thing_ about intergalactic communications systems?" Rocket pointed with his thumb to Steve offensively and crossed his arms with yet another condescending gesture and series of scowls.

"Stop calling everyone names, Rocket. You could have asked the..._Avengers_ for help. I'm sure you did not need to _break the walls_ to access whatever you needed." Gamora felt strange using the title as she scolded once more as she earned a grateful glance from Steve. Clint put his weapons away along with Natasha, realizing the misunderstanding. He was still remained reluctant.

"Yeah, like _that_ would have worked." It was Rocket's turn to roll his eyes as everyone realized once more. By now, the sun was filling the room.

"Steve, Bruce wants to talk to you downstairs. Tony is with Pepper and Director Fury has decided that it's best for the ship to be dealt with as soon as possible, He basically just wants us to deal with this." Natasha informed Rocket not to mess with the power, and faced Steve with a straight nod. They all left, casting wary glances at Rocket and the offset gang, eager to leave as they stepped into the elevator.

* * *

"What does Bruce need?" Steve asked, frowning again at Natasha as Clint slammed his fist into a button near the lower floors.

"He wanted to follow up on some sort of meeting you had last night with those guys. He also wanted your opinion on something about the encased ship." Natasha answered coolly, hands folded neatly behind her back. She was not going to mention how strange it had been to witness a Raccoon talking about advanced technology that even herself has never laid eyes upon, but as she told Clint before: they needed to be open-minded. Aliens were no longer as big of a surprise and the latest encounter seconds ago was no exception.

"Oh. Were is he?" Steve gladly took her subtle 'don't pry' body language.

"He is in the workshop. I think he is looking into some of the chemicals that might work for dissolving the ship's outer layer of encasement. We weren't able to take any samples because it's too dense of a material, but we were able to analyze it further up close."

"Do we know what it consists of?"

"Not exactly. There are basic elements that are known to us of course, but there is definitely some strange atom arrangements that Bruce wanted to ask you about." She turned to him, a small smile on her face as he answered with a sheepish grin, "Somehow I doubt I am the science-y guy to talk to regarding this kind of stuff. Why can't he ask Tony?"

"He seems to value your opinion over Anthony's for now, I guess. In any case, he is still dealing with Pepper."

"Ah." The elevator stopped and all three of them stepped off and into a wider hallway that split in different directions. Steve nodded as the two assassins left for the opposite end as Steve stepped into a large room where Tony's "window" was pushed to the side halfheartedly.

"Morning, Doctor. What's up?"

* * *

"That's it? Man, some help you all are." Rocket set his weapon in its holster and went back to fiddling with the electricity as soon as the Avengers were out of sight.

"Rocket, just don't touch that. Let's wait until the day starts so the Director can help you to make that chemical for the _Milano_."

"I told you, I don't even know if it's possible on this rock. If it's not, which it most likely isn't, then we need to contact someone so we can just get taken away from this hellhole before they all try to kill us! And I don't need _anyone's_ help!" He spat, continuing to dig around the square-sized hole, evidently refusing Gamora's advice.

Gamora rolled her eyes as Drax stepped forward, "Rocket my friend, I think you should listen to Gamora. Triggering an hostile motivations by damaging their property could lead us into more of a problematic situation." He warned clearly, stepping nearer to Rocket.

"_I_ am Groot." Rocket groaned much like an adolescent and then proceeded to forcefully yanked his paw out.

"Rocket!" Gamora screeched. He had in his hand a small wire that was seemingly-unplugged, though not broken.

"Rocket! I thought you had taken my advice." Drax furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, clearly not understanding Rocket's disobedience. The fury creature only grinned as he slammed it into his makeshift device's plugin.

As soon as Rocket plugged his computer in the screen glimmered to life, it's grey form shimmering for a moment before focusing on what looked like a quick glance at Nova's headquarters where the Nova Prime would usually stand and negotiate with other leaders.

She was not there but Gamora gasped as she realized that somehow, Rocket had achieved what he needed to, and people began to notice the unexpected connection as they bustled by, paused, and ran out of the wide frame. The screen itself was not in horrible quality, but it was constantly trying to focus itself and remain still.

"Nova Prime, do you copy?" Gamora asserted, waving her hands around the screen. Drax and the other moved closer as Rocket only beamed at his contribution.

"See? I'm not a child after all, am I?"

"Nova Prime!" Gamora called, stepping closer to the screen that was slightly taller than Rocket, yet about as wide as a small desk.

At first, it was as if people could see the Guardians, but not hear them. People ran off in several different directions with wide eyes and papers flying. Just as Gamora thought they should turn it off, for she feared that perhaps the signal was corrupted and they might not look like themselves, the Prime herself appeared quickly, as if teleporting. Stepping closer with narrowed eyes, she asked, "Identify yourselves."

They all said their full names and occupation and upon mentioning where they were, Nova Prime, seemingly on-edge asked, "Where?"

"Terra. Where Peter was first taken by the Ravagers. Can you help us?" Gamora asked quickly. She was expecting an alarm to blaze as someone else would come in and ruin their moment of connections. The screen shimmered once more as the astute woman only asked, "How did you land all the way out there? You were supposed to be not thirty steps away from me for your re-supply and check-in landing."

"We crashed." Gamora took the heavy liberty of explaining everything from when they first saw the bacon-portal to where they were standing now. She told Nova Prime about the Avengers and their current relationship with them along with Peter's current critical condition. She mentioned a possible plan that involved Rocket putting together a chemical but the Nova Prime only frowned, doubt completely visible in her steely eyes.

"Well for one thing, Peter should survive. When we uncovered his origins a few years ago we were not exaggerating when we said it was something ancient and powerful. But as for the ship, I'm not sure I am the correct person to talk to."

"Can you send some of your men here to us?"

"We could, but I won't." She answered sternly, a dark frown screwing up her expression.

"Why not?" Drax spoke up, eyes glistening with concern.

"Just last night when you were scheduled to arrive there was an incident near the courtyard landing when a small group of assassins attempted to ambush us, but they seemed surprised that you had not landed, as I was. We have them in custody and one of them was carrying a rough map of some sort, claiming that it led to some sort of object."

"Is it another stone?" Rocket asked, a shiver crawling up his spine at an alarmingly quick rate.

"Well in a way, yes. It was a map to our headquarters where it currently remains under our protection."

"Do you think it's possible that _Thanos_ has somehow figured any of the other stones' current locations? Did he hire these assassins?" Gamora asked, a matching frown digging into her pointed cheekbones.

"I hope not, but it seems possible. Lately we have also lost a few of our ships to unknown forces. They are the same Kree from Ronan's forces and they live on the outskirts of this galaxy and have never encountered this close to us before since then. Our men have been slowly declining in number as I previously thought hardly anything of it, but now it has become a rather pressing issue. I am sorry." She informed regretfully, worry set into every facial feature she had.

"You cannot find any way to travel here at all?" Drax inquired, disbelief carved into his forehead.

"I'm afraid not. Just before you called here, there was _another_ attack that were of completely of a different origin than the one last night. They didn't get far due to my maximum security protocol, but I would not be surprised nor pleased if they continued their attacks. Luckily I have temporarily taken care of it. I truly am sorry, but if I were to send more men to you, I'm afraid I would be putting not only my forces at risk but you as well, if they managed to bring you and your ship back here there would be a high chance that you would not survive the return." She furrowed her eyebrows and pursed her lips, the words stinging her. She was the Nova Prime, one of the most powerful military forces in the galaxy, and here she was surrendering to simple crimes that set her paranoia on fire.

"If you are going to build an anti-isolate, Rocket, then I suggest you speak with someone here who knows their chemicals and regions." She added rather quickly, turning to him as the screen flickered.

"Shoot." He replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"Very well." The authorized leader left with a curt nod and soon, a thin, short man with a lab coat appeared, hands behind his back.

"What is it you are trying to create, mister Rocket?'' He obviously did not know much about the Guardians, but Rocket turned to his teammates with a smirk.

"Heya pal. Listen, I need a powerful enough acid to disassemble..." He started. Gamora wasn't listening and turned to Drax and Groot, tuning out Rocket's voice.

"We need to leave as soon as possible. Thanos is plotting something bad and it's going to happen quick. We must find Steve and the Avengers and convince them to let us go!" She whispered furiously, her concern flaring up once more.

"But we cannot take flight without Peter and a ship. Even then, will the _Milano_ function from the impact?" Drax inquired. Gamora was about to explode with frustrations. _Goddammit Peter, I need you!_

_"_You're right, but-"

"I told you so!" Rocket screeched. He threw his gun on the floor and stomped his way up to the counter, eye-to-eye with his shipmates, furious.

"I told you, this planet has NOTHING that we can use! Lab-rat over there just ran an analysis and there are no elements on this planet that can take apart Peter's stupidest invention on the ship! We're stuck until that idiot wakes up!" He growled, grit literally coming out in spit-form as he pointed to the screen behind him. The scientist from Nova only blinked, not comprehending the situation. Gamora turned off the screen, walking past Rocket and turned to face everyone, remaining calm.

"Look. We need to just relax. Just because we don't have the supplies doesn't mean we can't leave. Peter has the unlocking device and all we have to do is just wait. We can't possibly just rummage through his stuff because we might break something and since we don't have the supplies to deactivate the ship, then our only option is to wait until Peter is conscious."

"What if he does not remember anything?" Drax inquired darkly. Gamora's stomach flipped a thousand times per second before she answered with a stone-like face.

"Then we are forced to remain here until Nova can send help."

"Can we contact anyone else beside Nova?" Everyone turned to Rocket; he only grunted, "No. Nova has advanced technology that is easy to connect to with any scarp of electricity that can send a signal. Contacting a moving ship such as Yondu's or a radioactive planet such as Knowhere with such scraps, " he nodded to his makeshift device with disgust, "would never work and besides, Nova is the only planet that I know of that has the equipment and firepower to take the all of us and the _Milano_ back in once piece sufficiently." He reported with a dismal tone and slumped shoulders.

Gamora sighed. Nothing is going right, and it seemed that it was going to be a long day. So far, there had been hardly any hope for the Guardians.

* * *

"Oh, you know just your everyday alien-molecular sciences." Bruce answered. Fiddling with various monitors at arms-length reach; he flipped through pictures and videos of the spaceship, chewing on a crisp apple while doing so.

"I see. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?" Steve inquired, not even trying to understand any of the models or diagrams on the screens. He only chuckled as he watched Bruce try to analyze them with flickering eyes.

"I was going to tell you that based on my calculations, there is no way this thing is moving from the park nor getting disarmed." He pointed loosely with his glasses in his opposite hand with the apple and began smiling to himself, gazing at the screens with rotating molecular structures as if it was his personal Mona Lisa.

"Why are you smiling then?"

"Because it's really rather simple, but somehow it's also really complex. You probably wouldn't understand." He continued smiling with his dope-like smile as he munched on his apple. He chewed for a moment before adding with a quick frown, "I think we should talk to Tony. He's made a new element before, right?"

Steve blinked. "Umm...I guess?"

"That's all we need. That raccoon just needs something that isn't produced here on Earth, so maybe he can create it?" Bruce squinted his eyes, trying to imagine if what he was saying could actually happen. Steve did too, but the image of Tony blowing up the city and the ship itself ran through his mind in ten different, horrifying angles.

"I don't know. He already tried to mess with basic physics and look what happened. Why don't you ask Fury, see what he thinks?" Steve always deferred to his leaders as soldier, and he knew that he was not the most skilled in this region of saving lives: science, aliens, and order of actions regarding aliens.

"Maybe, but he pretty much left this to us."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I already told him about how the animal's plan wouldn't work, and he just glared at me and said 'figure it out'. I think he just doesn't want to deal with this." Bruce admitted, closing the monitors while throwing away his apple core in the corner trashcan.

"I guess it's up to us now. I wonder if they know how to establish contact with someone else?" Steve asked, trying to bring up a monitor to the room. He hated spying, but he was curious to see if they actually obeyed-

"Huh. Son of a bitch." Bruce already pulled two up. He raised his eyebrows.

"He did. But it doesn't look like they can do much."

"..._doesn't mean we can't leave. Peter has the unlocking device and all we have to do is just wait. We can't possibly just rummage through his stuff because we might break something and since we don't have the supplies to deactivate the ship, then our only option..." _Steve raised his eyebrows as well and soon became confused.

"I knew Peter has a deactivation device, but wouldn't it be worth the risk to at least see if we could use it?" Steve turned to Bruce. Bruce only shrugged, and ran a hand through his hair with a sigh.

"I don't know. We don't know the guy so I wouldn't touch it. Gamora's right; what if we break something or blow up the ship?" Bruce remarked with a groan, tired of trying to find solutions to everything that had happened in the last day.

"I guess you're right; but then again, who carries a self-destruct button to the ship with them all the time?" Steve looked out of the window, the city already buzzing with life and the scent of coffee and vanilla.

"Apparently _he_ might. Who is this guy anyways?"

"I dunno. Some sort of pilot who is liked by his crew I suppose."

"It would appear that way but hopefully he won't wake up a vegetable."

"Let's hope not, or we'll never get that vessel off of Earth." Steve concluded, staring at the electric dome where SHIELD suburbans were still lined up along. He sighed, and wondered where Thor was.

* * *

Tony had been confined to his room for several hours, taking intense waves of heat from Pepper and Happy. Happy, being almost as upset as Pepper for making him take the blow of her rage had also yelled at Tony, and he had not been permitted to leave while he explained his reasoning for sending her away to his safehouse.

"I don't want you living in the same building as the wicked witch, licorice-boned, rodent-faced, or the giving-tree aliens that are currently congregated here!" he nearly shouted, upset at himself but satisfied that Happy did what he was told; though he had to bribe him a few twenties to do so.

Tony knew he was going to screw up even more with these types of situations and he did not want Pepper to be even across the city when he did so. His actions were finally catching up to him, and he was not looking forward to the nightmares.

He was able to leave when Pepper finally sighed as heavily as possible, glared at him for probably a total of an hour, scolded him for being a 'incompetent, arrogant, child-like idiot' for pushing her away. When the monitor finally clicked off, it was nearly late morning. He collapsed on his bed, expecting Fury to call until Bruce informed him of his apparent refusal to deal with the aliens downstairs. He sighed, trying to figure out what to do next.

_Pilot's asleep._  
_Wicked Witch is crazy._  
_Rodent's grumpy._  
_There's a walking tree..._

He only groaned loudly like a teenager, and was about to call his team to a meeting when a monitor blinked near his night stand. At first, Tony did not bother to turn his head towards it, until JARVIS alerted him of a very blood-curling report.

"Sir, it has come to my attention now that you are finished with Miss Potts that the Guardians are no longer on my monitoring apparatus."

"What?! Why?" Tony snapped, jumping from the bed and running to his personal elevator, jabbing the buttons.

"They appear to have conducted a method to cut off my live feeds. I do not have an knowledge of how, sir. I apologize."

Tony only gritted his teeth, waiting impatiently until his elevator reached the floor where they were in. _Why didn't he tell me this earlier? When I said 'ignore all alerts', I didn't mean alerts about those guys!_

When the familiar beeping occurred, he nearly wanted to pry open the doors faster as he strode in, glaring at the four figures all standing near the end of the couch.

He ignored the strange device on the counter but instead, asked viciously, "Why did you hack into JARVIS? I thought we could trust you?"

"We didn't-well, Rocket did." Gamora answered as lightly as she could, glaring at Rocket, who was now on Groot's shoulder, precariously close to Tony.

"Don't-just, why? You didn't send for more aliens like you, did you? Are you planning on attacking us?" He accused, eyes wide open as he mentally planned on how to escape as quickly as possible, plans forming in his mind at a rapid pace.

"No! We just talked with our allies about receiving help but to no avail." Drax answered with a sincere and disappointed tone, not comprehending the tension that was radiating from Anthony, was thinking about hyperventilating.

"What do you mean?"

"We have allies that could help us leave Terra peacefully with out pilot, but they have been under attack lately from unknown sources." Gamora answered, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Enlighten me." He spat, not believing their stories. Gamora explained Rocket's device and his earlier and near-future plans, and Tony seemed to be convinced until the mention of Peter came up.

"You can't just mess with his stuff and see what happens?"

"Absolutely not! He used to be a criminal of some sorts, so all of his possessions are likely rigged with dangerous side effects if we mess with them. We have no idea how to disable them." She regretfully explained once more, her words making her cringe at her helplessness in the situation.

"That's rather lame. Speaking of your friend, JARVIS, check on that guy, will you?" He requested, not taking his eyes off of the Guardians, who only waited expectantly for something to happen, Gamora's heart skipping a few beats.

A large monitor was projected in front of the broken, torn-up television, and what happened next was almost as fast as what had happened when they first arrived by accidental incidents.

Where Peter was _supposed_ to be laying was nothing but an empty bed with the covers thrown to the side, loose wires dangling like earbuds from the flashing monitors.

Peter was nowhere to be seen.


	6. Recuperation, not cooperation

**Once again, I apologize for the delay. **

* * *

Tony made it to the elevator first and was unsurprisingly quickly followed by the rest of the Guardians. He stopped them with a glare, inquiring, "What are you doing?"

"That's our pilot! We're going down there with you." Gamora flashed him a death glare, completely forgetting to keep her calm stature. She thought it was obvious why they refused to be held in the "their room" like children.

Tony only stared for a few moments before blinking. _Things could get out of hand very quickly, but I don't have much of a choice. I would be leaving armed bombs in here,_ he thought with cautious alert, a frown at the corners of his mouth.

"Well maybe he's just getting a drink. JARVIS?" In response, a monitor appeared behind the Guardians near the window that looked out into the city. It depicted what appeared to be a thick red blob hobbling around in a big, blue room.

"JARVIS, turn the heat signatures off please; I'm not a predator.''

"What is that?" Drax asked, frowning at the figure. Gamora ignored Tony as he stepped in front of her to examine the screen.

"I'm sorry sir, but it appears that he is utilizing a cloaking device; if I were to remove the heat-signature filter, he would no longer be visible to the human eye." He apologized, demonstrating quickly on an identical monitor next to the heat-signature display.

Anthony paused in a short, awkward silence before commenting blatantly, "Son of a bitch. He must have stolen that from SHIELD."

Gamora interjected firmly, "No, that's his personal invisibility projector. We all have one but it must have been on his person when we crashed. He must have woken up, grabbed it and is now attempting to escape." She almost smiled but she was not sure if any of this was a good thing. _Does he remember what happened? If he was escaping, did he think he was in some sort of prison without knowing his origins on the team? How the hell is he even walking when-_

"You all have personal retro-reflecting panels? Damn, I joined the wrong team."

"We need to get to him before the idiot injures himself." Rocket spluttered as it was obvious, ignoring Tony's remark. Suddenly, another red mass appeared on the edge of the screen. It was another human and Tony sighed with exasperation, his shoulders slumping slightly.

"Uh oh." Rocket bluntly remarked with a grunt. Natasha was walking forwards from another hallway and she seemed unaware of Peter's lurking figure on the other end of the room, her eyes trained straight forward to the other end of the room.

"Natasha, stop! Peter is in there with you. You can't see him but he's in the far corner opposite of you." Tony warned, careful to keep any authority out of his tone as she stopped suddenly and then whipped her head around the room, hair tied back into a short ponytail that flared along with her head movement.

"Is he a threat?"

"No, but he can hear us. Stay there, we'll be there in twenty seconds." Tony didn't bother waiting as he was already heading towards the elevator with long strides that defied his height, the Guardians almost too stunned to process what was going on.

"I am Groot." He pointed to the monitors as he nearly pressed his nose into the thin, digital screens. Groot was reminded of when he was in the Kyln prison, where he first met Peter and the others with Rocket on his shoulder, the technology similar to what he had experienced there before.

"We can't let him think that he's in any harm when we get there; he might not remember anything and things could take a wrong turn.'' Gamora warned, knowing Peter's erratic tendencies, her fists nearly shaking from anxiety. This was it; this was the moment she would finally get her long-awaited answer along with the other Guardians. It was like an injection of a highly-addictive drug; there was nothing that was going to stop them from finally reuniting with their pilot whether he remembered what for or not.

"Yeah, I sort of figured that out. How does he even have access to that type of technology?" Tony asked bitterly, tapping something on yet another monitor on his elevator walls. He threw monitor after monitor around, and Drax assumed he was searching for something. Rocket commented, "If you're scanning for any brain waves, it won't work, numb-nuts."

"Duly noted. Hopefully he can still talk before my lady friend pumps him full of lead."

"What?" Drax asked. Groot, who was respectfully being somewhat ignored grunted in a surprisingly hostile manner, understanding the reference.

"He means shooting him until he's nothing but dust." Rocket translated with a deep-set growl, and he began to reach for his gun. Gamora kicked him in the shoulder lightly; she did not know what to expect from the next few minutes of her life but she was tired of guns and threats of shooting. She didn't want to start another war in front of either a half-exhausted and battered pilot, or a complete stranger.

"So why can't I scan him?"

"His cloaking device is _literally_ a cloaking device. Sometimes it prevents certain methods of scanning, sometimes it doesn't. It just depends on where you are and what technology you have access to." Rocket answered with reluctant disappointment, shrugging as Gamora raised her eyebrows at him gratefully. She suddenly felt somewhat exhausted. Rocket still kept his hands ready to move, his fingers and tail twitching in sync.

"Huh. I guess we'll just have to ask him about it when we see him, which should be right about now." The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to reveal a still redhead in the right corner, and what seemed like nothing but air on the other.

"What the hell is going on?" The Guardians were too stunned and on-edge to register who had said it. They gazed at a small trail of blood that appeared out of nowhere. Small drops began forming in one uneven pool, and it was no longer a mystery who was in the room and where.

* * *

_ Head hurts..._  
_ Hip hurts..._

_Mix-tape broken..._  
_ Groot's head..._

_ Where am I..._

_ Milano's defense..._  
_Gam Ora okay..._  
_ Smells funny..._

Peter's mind buzzed softly with small pieces of drifting, incomplete, and hesitant thoughts. No images came to his mind and he did not recognize a word that ran through his head like clusters of slugs. It was as if he had two minds, one that was blank, and the other full of _something_. He was unconsciously trying to pull the two together, attempting to salvage anything that would help explain why his whole body felt like it had been shredded and then put hastily back together again.

* * *

Peter awoke with a gasp, as if he had been underwater for years, never tasting oxygen before. His eyes flared open as his chest rose and fell rapidly. His mind was blank, as if someone had tampered with it or took something away. His mouth felt dry and he temporarily forgot how to blink.

He strained to sit up and take in his surroundings. His only thought was to escape. _Escape_. _Live_. _Find my mixtape._

_Wait, what?_

He ignored his own bedraggled thoughts, alarmed at how disconnected he felt. He didn't even feel human; what was going on? Where was he? His body refused to cooperate at first, his legs seemingly too large for his arms and his neck to lanky to hold up his head for more than a few mere seconds. Gasping still for unnecessary air, he grasped the edges of his bed and pushed himself up with both arms, ignoring once more his frayed mind and stiff muscles. His head throbbed and threatened to drag him back into the bed, but he refused with an unknown purpose. His fragmented thoughts racked around his brain like the end of broken wires; only vividly small sparks of random words and images were the only thing he was able to register.

_Who is Gam Ora_? Trees. _Shipspace_. Twinkie rocket... _Savage_? _Or was it Ravage_? Hot purple rocks?

He began to shiver from all of the effort of pushing himself out of bed and was now attempting to find his belongings if he had any.

It scared Peter to not understand what his own mind was telling him, to not understand the language he was supposed to know. He knew his own name and the basics but everything else was blurred out and as unclear as the thickest fog. He was almost inclined to believe it was magic of some sort.

_Find exit,_ he commanded his brain while throwing his legs off of the bed, forgetting to worry about what to do afterwards. He furrowed his brows as he pulled out several wires from his body like slender leeches, disregarding their alarms and obnoxious notifications. He was sure it must not have been a prison, otherwise he would be chained to something and probably left to die in the first place, not hooked up to an easily-detachable system.

_Probably shouldn't have pulled that out._

He yelped in pain as he leaned on his now-burning hip, heavily limping away from the bed like a three-legged animal in search of something that might look familiar to him, drugs rapidly ebbing away. Hissing at himself, he clenched his fists and closed his eyes tightly, trying to recollect himself, or at least whatever parts of him he could manage to gather. _My name is Peter Quill. I am a human being...or at least half? But at this point, what the hell do I know?!_ He thought bitterly, deeply unsatisfied with his dismayed thoughts which seemed more like questions.

Opening his eyes, he scanned the room. After several long moments of studying nearly every object in hopes to to re-familiarize himself with his own things, he finally concluded that a small pile of foreign-looking items under a hook-shelf were probably his; they seemed out of place regarding the room as a whole. He limped over, breathing heavily while doing so, using the wall to support himself to bend down and grab what looked like a rectangular prism with a few buttons on it. Somehow, his hands knew what to do because without thinking, he pressed a series of buttons and could no longer see his own hands.

_Find exit_, he reminded himself. Now sweating from all of the effort he had exerted in the last ten minutes, he held his breath as he bent down once more and grabbed his firearm, the weight suddenly threatening to yank his arm off and onto the ground.

He gasped again but out of frustration. _What is happening to me? What _had_ happened to me? Am I always this weak? _He began to panic as his breathing managed to become heavier and more labored as he limped away, aware that he was invisible. Gun grasped too firmly in hand, he began to make his way towards the hallway, trying to resist the urge to slump against the wall and fall asleep. His breaths quickened as he grasped his firearm tightly while the various hisses and sharp inhales echoed in the hallway as he slipped carefully into another room that contained an elevator on the east wall.

Peter stopped, leaning in the doorway, failing to notice his own blood trickling from his body. His head throbbed progressively with more intense, dull pain, his legs trembled, and his hips were in so much pain that even his stomach was numb; it was suffering from the rippling and increasing pain from his wounds. Vision blurry, hands shaking, he managed to move forward and grasp the edge of a table of some sort for support. It did not help him as he only continued breathing laboriously. It never ceased nor improved, and his current condition was frightening him. _This is not very comfortable_, he thought dryly.

Suddenly, a door slammed shut somewhere and he froze, ceasing his breathing, the sudden actions and tension causing a massive headache to ensue on top of his head already pulsating. He nearly moaned with agony and he was close to collapsing onto the ground, prepared to sink eternally into his broken mind and body.

He could not register what was happening. He saw a woman walk in, stop, speak, and then wait for something. He thought he heard his own name, but he only shook his head to try to clear his half-black vision.

He tried to look clearly at the redhead, her hair and straight stance the only the he could process before the elevator doors apparently were opening.

Eyes shut tight, hand sore from grasping his weapon tightly, he attempted to inhale and exhale slowly and quietly while some type of dialogue was bounding around in the room; he thought he might have seen a familiar face, and new thought almost began to connect his old ones.

However, after only a few short moments, his legs could not longer hold him up. All of his limbs felt stringy, his head hammering with each heartbeat. Shoulders trembling, he only managed to catch his name before finally falling to the ground with a heavy thump as his weapon clattered to the floor.

* * *

"Peter?" Gamora pushed her way through the crowded elevator, catching Natasha's glare towards what looked like a pool of blood forming from thin air.

"Is he well?" Drax inquired, making his way out as well. Natasha left the room with a brief, "I'm getting medical assistance" and a curt nod to Anthony. Tony commanded, "JARVIS, can you still scan anything besides his red-blob state?"

"I'm afraid not yet, sir. However based on my critical observations, he appears to be over fatigued and suffering from the lack of medical opiates. Segguested diagnosis would n-."

"How long has he been out of the medical room?" Tony moved forwards next to where Gamora stood but did not move any closer. He was rather annoyed that JARVIS did not alert him, but then again he had not been in the mood to stomp his way down there in the first place.

"About thirty-four minutes, sir." JARVIS faithfully replied, causing Rocket's ears to twitch with annoyance. Rocket hated AIs; it was as if another yes-man was always waiting for instructions like a servant, and there was always a possibility that an AI could become something more intelligent than just an artificial one. He shuddered to think at what would happen after that.

"Peter?" Gamora asked again, inching closer to where he supposedly was. But instead of a worded reply, she heard a gasping noise that was almost like a forced exhale followed by a heavy thud. Something clattered to the ground and suddenly appeared; she recognized it as Peter's gun. Gasping, a puddle of crimson blossomed at an alarmingly rapid rate.

"He needs help, now!" She was beginning to panic as Groot strode over, ignoring Tony's useless protests. He outstretched his limbs in wide spectrum, searching for Peter's body just as he had done in the ship. When he finally managed to grasp how their pilot, Groot picked him up gently once more, and awkward empty space filling his branches. This time, he moved much faster and quickly moved out into the hallway. Everyone followed, Rocket managing to jump onto the tree's shoulders, studying intently at an invisible bulge in the tree's arms.

"How do we deactivate that thing?" He asked, watching as Groot carefully place Peter's body back onto the bed. Natasha was nowhere to be seen but several nurses were buzzing around with cloths and putrid-scented chemicals. The guardians trailed behind, Tony followed closely, telling JARVIS to send an update to Fury and the others. He complied.

"I don't know. I can't see where the damn thing is so I can't tell you how-" Gamora spat, but her words were cut off from it suddenly disappearing. The device was strapped onto his loose white sweatpants, the rectangular prism soaked with crimson liquid on his right side. It made a small electronic beep before a red light blinked off.

Peter almost looked as if he had not spent any time resting in the tower. He seemed impossibly paler and his bandages were all stained once again. The Guardians had a temporary flashback to a few days ago in the ship. This time, the Guardians stepped back into the hallway with Tony, who had called them over with strict hand gestures and a swift, 'Hey, over here trekkies!'

"How could you let this happen? Isn't this tower guarded?" Gamora seethed, about to claw his eyes out as they filtered reluctantly out of the ward.

"First of all lady, this isn't yours so don't tell me what to do. Second, this is a _home_, not a prison. I didn't think your intelligent pilot would try to throw himself out of the door when he's got half of a hip and a barely-functional cranium banging against his skull." He spat, gesturing to the nurses cleaning Peter's bodily fluids. They worked quickly as they reattached the various wires and IV drips. Some left to clean his trail of fluid in the hall, towels and bottles of clear fluids in hand.

"Now what?" Drax asked as they studied their work, watching for any signs of Peter's consciousness to reappear.

"I don't know. He never spoke, just collapsed. He must have just been too tired or something." Gamora's forehead scrunched into concern. His mixed signals were not easing her worries about him. He didn't say a word, and that was either great or horribly worrisome.

"I think I should stay with him. I don't think it's a good idea for all of us to crowd in the room when he wakes."

"How do you know he will wake up?" Tony asked with more bitterness than he had intended, following her gaze.

"I just know. Peter doesn't give up and I would rather be there to stop him from trying to escape the next time, rather than sidelining the whole thing." She retorted back, hinting at his mistake of leaving them in a completely different area apart from Peter. Tony made a countenance of annoyance, tired of dealing with the Guardians. He felt as if another child from daycare just broke away from the playpen of screaming toddlers.

"Whatever. I'm leaving and if you want to stay then fine. Just don't touch anything; I'm going to talk with Bruce." He rolled his eyes and moved towards the end of the hallway, taking a turn an leaving them stranded, standing in the corridor.

"Well that went well." Rocket remarked, arms folded as he watched the nurses finish cleaning Peter once more, perched on Groot's shoulders.

"We can all be here, but when he wakes up, I just want to speak to him alone." Gamora turned back to her fellow teammates, and gave them an apologetic look. She knew she was being selfish asking for this private encounter; all of them had a right to speak with Peter first because they were just as anxious as she was. However, they nodded, understanding why she could not be the one to be relieved first.

"Maybe we should just shove some chemicals up his ass and make him wake up now." Rocket suggested, fed up with waiting around for things to happen.

"I am Groot."

"I am well aware, I was just being sarcastic. I want to go home and by home I mean take this _Milano_ and haul ass off of this garbage planet!" Rocket growled, almost pouting like a child, slumping his shoulders. Drax gave him a sympathetic look before adding, "We all do, furry one. But we must be here for Peter. He cannot do this without us, with memories or without them." Gamora smiled gratefully at him, and she stepped into the room silently, sitting at a chair near his right side. Rocket only rolled his eyes like a teenager, slinging his weapon on his holster for the upteenth time.

She took the time to study him closely for the first time since they crashed. His hair was slightly bushier, a little less curly, and his cheeks looked less full, as if slightly malnourished. The other Guardians settled in behind her in the far corner, gazing out of the windows, muttering quietly to themselves.

"Peter Quill, you are the dumbest person in the galaxy, and I hate to love you." She whispered, running her hands over her face and hair, feeling as if the world was depending on her.

The hours slowly ticked by, the Guardians remained in the corner talking and eating occasionally. Drax had ventured back into the room to retrieve food using the box Steve had used, and they ate with little interest in eating. Gamora was crunching an apple as she gazed out of the window, thinking about what the Nova Prime had said what seemed like days ago.

". . ._lost a few of our ships to unknown forces. They are the same Kree from Ronan's forces. . "_ Gamora pondered what was possibly going on. Thanos was still under the hood of things, but she wasn't sure if he was conducting this particular assault at all. She knew that Thanos would not send petty enforcements to do his bidding, whether it be killing the Guardians or retrieving the infinity stone. She found it difficult to believe that he was attacking Nova's forces for almost no reason, but she struggled to figure what else it could be.

_Maybe they are just greedy, and had heard word of the infinity stone at Nova? _She nearly scoffed at the idea. Nova was not a weak nor unsophisticated military force. Indeed, it was not invincible, not neither was anything else. She wondered if Ronan had survived, but she turned that idea down as well.

_Perhaps this is Thanos' way of isolating Nova? Does he know we are stranded here, and this was done on purpose? _This made sense to Gamora, and she shuddered to think what would happen if he appeared now, when their pilot was useless, while they were still in unknown territory _and_ while their ship was about as useful as the dirt it sat in. Gamora sighed, and leaned back in her chair, trying to put the possibilities in her head together.

Where is Nebula? She wondered all of a sudden. She highly doubted that she was orchestrating this, for her powerful sister had no formidable quarrel against her. However, she was also unaware if Thanos still considered her his ally, and vice versa. Nebula had given up on serving Ronan yet had continued to hold vicious intentions of killing Gamora as a sign of loyalty. She was not to be trifled with, but was she demanding vengeance against the Guardians?

_Perhaps this wall just simple attacks at Nova, _the assassin figured. After all, this is not the first time it had happened and with the Guardians being an ally, it was not difficult to picture what a strike against the Guardians would mean for Nova, especially if they had been killed.

* * *

The Avengers were nowhere to be seen, and they did not bother to check on Peter, nor the others. They had gladly avoided the situation entirely, only checking on occasional monitors. Steve and Bruce attempted not to, for they did not enjoy spying on others, even if it was out of concern. Tony and Pepper carried an intense conversation in his upstairs suite and Fury eventually was updated on the short fiasco.

* * *

As for the assassins, they sat in a park on the border of the city. It was not the central park where the barricaded ship still remained, but a smaller one. Quieter, less populated, and massive, looming trees covered the entire area with a cool shade that prevented the use of sunglasses and sweatbands by various joggers who contentedly kept their gaze trained forwards.

They sat shoulder-to-shoulder at a wide, thick and well-worn concrete table, sipping warm coffee as they watched the passerby move along with small children, dogs, or canes strolled along peacefully, unaware of the two's watchful eyes.

"This is crazy." Natasha spoke first. She continued to place a steady trust in her previous theory of becoming accustomed to aliens, though it was becoming more difficult by the hour.

"_Now_ you tell me."

"I just sent for medical aid to an invisible half-human. Definitely not on my bucket list."

"You have a bucket list?"

"If I did, that would never make it to the top."

"What would?" Clinton leaned backwards and leaned only slightly on her right shoulder, careful not to do so with obvious intent.

Natasha paused heavily, deep in thought before answering with a quick but light, "Skydiving."

Clinton chuckled and responded, "Me too. I have always wanted to fall from great heights. Why skydiving?"

"The idea of just letting go for once and not caring just sounds...new."

"New?"

"So much of our job is killing, running around, following orders, alerting the higher chairs and whatnot but for once, I think just letting myself fall down with no consequences or thought about how it will affect other people is just something that I have never experienced before."

"Wow. I never thought that personifying ones' experimental failures would sound fun but damn, you make it sound like it's just another hobby for the weekend." Natasha smirked and drank another sip of her coffee as Clinton remarked dryly, "I honestly don't know what to make of those guys back at the tower."

Natasha briefly recalled his tense state with the Raccoon, and for a moment she wondered what would have happened if he had attempted to kill him. She wasn't sure whether to grimace or laugh.

"I feel like it isn't somewhere I can really stay anymore, you know? Is Stark going to keep letting aliens and gods in like a B and B hotel?" Clinton frowned at his own images flashing through his mind of him and the Avengers eating meals with various big-headed, yellow and purple creatures who refused to pass him the salt.

"I am not going to lie; I can unfortunately see that but hopefully this will knock some sense into Tony and his goddamn sense of science." Natasha growled, her grip tightening on her coffee cup. Clinton took notice and shifted his weight slightly so that he was no longer leaning on her.

"I feel like Steve. I am not sure who is the enemy sometimes. Albeit their motivations are similar, I don't know whether to throw Tony into a cell or them, or just screw everything and wait it all out."

"It's not our call."

"But think about it; if Tony keeps toying with science, he's going to kill us all with some...I don't know, crazy AI that wants to eat the planet or something." Clinton remarked with a dripping tone of disdain that only an assassin could manage.

"You've got a point, but would he really pull through with something like that?"

"He wouldn't do it on purpose but ever since he and Bruce turned that thing on, I think the phrase 'two minds are better than one' has reached its limit. Besides, Anthony tends to do whatever the hell he wants."

Clinton agreed silently and drained the rest of his beverage. He eyed a small child eating a sandwich with his family. Amazingly, he looked much like a younger version of himself, and before any images could bounce their way into his mind, Natasha asked, "Do you think this will lead to another invasion?"

The archer suddenly wished hew as far away from New York as possible. "I hope not. I have had my share of these goddamn aliens runnin' around." He retorted with more grit that expected. Natasha sympathized, remarking gently, "None of that was your fault, Barton; it won't happen again and you were caught in a tight perimeter in an impossible situation."

"But I could have at least-"

"Barton. Stop." Natasha broke out in her usual demanding-friendly tone that she found herself often using when " The New York" subject came up between her and her steadfast partner.

Clinton only sighed, and then responded dryly, "If another alien invasion happens, or something of the sort, they won't know what hit them. There, does that satisfy you?" Natasha smiled and nodded, raising her eyebrows unison.

"I suppose it might be easier, but next time I should pack an energy drink; I wasn't prepared for overtime in the last battle." She joked, but the statement was not as light as she had intended it to be.

"What's our next step?" Clinton asked, watching the trees pick up with the wind.

"I'm not sure, but I do know that neither of us should let our guard down."

"Do we ever?" Clinton asked, turning his head towards her slightly, heads inches apart.

"Only for our friends." She attempted, smiling at her own cheesiness. She was about to take it back when Clinton replied, taking her breath away before it could come out.

"Only for each other." He agreed.

* * *

"What do humans even do in those things all day?" Rocket criticized, gazing down at the never-ending stream of vehicles buzzing about the narrow streets under the tower.

"I am Groot?"

"No, they don't just use it for traveling, I mean, not unless they lived really far away, right? You could just walk. Look how slowly they're moving; there's no way someone would get into a car just to travel a few miles and then get out, right?" Rocket asked, looking to Drax and Groot for unknown answers.

"One would think, but perhaps this planet celebrates a different culture." Drax answered as best to his abilities.

"That's not culture, that's just being lazy." Rocket retorted, pressing his paws against the glass as he stared out into the city once more.

"I am Groot."

"You think so?"

Groot only blinked, nodding slightly as his beady eyes rested on Rocket's.

"Perhaps Gamora needs assistance. She must be becoming fatigued by this time." Drax wondered aloud, turning around briefly to study the green-skinned member of the team with concern.

"Nah, the lady can hang for a while. I ain't in love with Peter."

"I am Groot!" Groot smacked Rocket lightly, careful not to use too much force as he scowled at him with a wooden frown that almost appeared permanent.

"Hey! It's true, you fathead; what good is it going to do if I waltz on over there and pretend to be all emotional and stuff, huh?" Rocket remarked brashly, ignoring Drax's confused looks.

Suddenly, a monitor began to beep, and the city-gazing windows turned around to find Gamora leaning in slightly. Peter's eyes were wide open. A little too wide.

* * *

Gamora had been contemplating Thanos' intentions when her emotionless gaze into the window that overlooked the hallway was interrupted by a loud beeping sound that emitted from behind her. It was three quick blips that rang in the room clearly, like gunshots.

She shook her head and focused on Peter, trying to see if he was awake. No sooner had she turned her body towards him and began to listen when he opened his eyes.

At first, she wanted to shake and hug him, shouting at the top of her lungs that her pilot was alive at last. She wanted to pull him closer, to kiss his lips, cheeks, neck, feel his warm hands around hers, and to smell his musky hair and skin again.

What stopped her was the expression on his face.

What appeared first was his apparent blank awareness; it was as if he was meeting a long-lost friend. At first, he did not appear to recognize Gamora or his surroundings. He blinked several times, his eyes never leaving hers as she stood motionless like a deer caught in headlights.

"Peter?"

He didn't respond quickly, only continued blinking at an unusual speed, his hands grasping and releasing the blankets that covered him, then opening and closing in front of his him as he stared at them. Gamora's heart rate rose rapidly.

"Peter Quill, can you hear me?"

"What, he lost his hearing too?" Rocket asked from where he stood. He and the other Guardians thought it best not to crowd Peter until he was sure of what was going on.

"Uh...just..."Peter stuttered, waving his hand slightly before staring at his legs for a few moments, evidently confused.

* * *

My mind buzzed like crazy, hundreds of tiny particles of thoughts and images and clips just rolling around in my head all at once. It was like watching a movie or something in sections at a time with scattered voices. I finally looked to the woman next to me, and more images buzzed through my head.

I knew this woman. Her name wasn't Gam Ora, but Gamora, my co-pilot. I remembered very clearly how we met and our history, but as for much of anything else, I was experiencing gray areas that fogged the progression of all these memories. I remembered her crazy combat skills when she first kicked me, and how she helped save me from blowing up after defeating Ronan. There were clear holes in my memory, and I was scared as hell; I didn't remember anything much else of what must have happened.

"Gamora. I uh..." I must have looked like such an idiot. My eyes began to tire from blinking, and I was briefly reminded of my attempt to escape. That must have been seconds ago, I thought with bewilderment. Why am I not in massive amounts of pain?

"Peter, thank the gods. You remember?" Gamora gazed at me as soon as I said the words. I almost didn't catch them; I was too busy attempting to pull my head together.

There were more names, faces, objects that were right there in front of me, but I couldn't reach them.

"I'm sorry, I'm just uh...thinking?" Yeah, I sound like an idiot.

* * *

Gamora nearly collapsed with relief as the pilot seemed to comprehend what was happening.

"Do you remember what happened last?"

"Uh...we crashed on Terra, which is where I assume we are now...no?" Peter shot Gamora a hopeful look.

"Yes, we are. Anything else?"

"I wasn't buckled?" Gamora laughed, for real in what seemed like ages.

"Yes. I should have told you put it on. But do you remember-"

Before she could finish, a tall man walked in wearing a white lab coat. It was the doctor.

"Awake, I see. Remember much?"

Annoyed already, Peter frowned and replied with a rasp, "Sort of. Who are you?"

"I'm doctor Greenwood. I am here on account of SHIELD to diagnose you. What do you remember?"

Gamora and Peter exchanged glances of trust. Peter was insanely skeptical, as were his instincts and current right to be, but Gamora's expression said it all : I will explain later.

"I don't remember anything that didn't involve her in it." He nodded towards Gamora, offering her a small smile almost as a joke. The power of true love, I guess, he thought playfully.

"Ah. I see. Impartial memory fragmentation paralysis; you're quite lucky. With a blow to that head of yours, I would have expected something worse."

"What is impartial memory fragmentation paralysis?" Gamora asked before Peter could, both unsure of whether to be relieved or not.

"Simply put," the doctor, clearly expecting something more drastic, put his clipboard and pen under his arm, leaning on one side slightly as he explained, "you just need images and little reminders to help you regain your memories. When you woke up to her, " he nodded towards Gamora, " you probably experienced a lot of waves of memories surrounding her any whatever happened that involved her, yes?"

Peter nodded, clearly already tired.

"All this means is that over time, you just need to look at something or hear something that will help you remind you of what your brain has stored. I would advise to take this at a slow pace, for your brain can only recover everything so fast." He concluded, eyes darting from the green-skinned woman to the bedraggled man in bed.

Without another word, he left to the room as if in a hurry to complete other tasks. Grateful for his rapid departure, Gamora turned back to Peter. He was still frowning, and she cringed at seeing him temporarily not himself at all.

"Well. This is great. Maybe next time I should just glue myself to the goddamn seat."

"It's not your fault. It isn't anyone's fault." She tried lightly, grabbing his hand. Thankfully, he didn't flinch, but held it firmly in return while continuing to stare at his legs.

"Who's is it, then? We didn't crash here on purpose." His forehead creased as he attempted to remember the events seconds-by-second.

Gamora explained to him everything as best she could, aware that her other friends were anxiously waiting in the far corner, out of Peter's sight.

She told him about the Avengers, who they were, and how Anthony's machine sucked them into the park. She told him about where they stayed and his brief fiasco breakout not hours ago, and Rocket's attempts to communicate with Nova Prime.

"Is the ship okay? I swear to god if it's-" Peter started, his grip tightening in Gamora's lithe hand.

"It's sort of okay. We haven't gotten a closer look at it because shortly after we left, the defense mechanism kicked in, and it hasn't moved since."

Peter blinked and looked her in the eyes for the first time that it lasted more than a few seconds.

"You don't have the dis-activation thingy?"

"No. You're the only one who has that, Peter. We were hoping you had it on you when we brought you here. I'm sorry." She apologized like a small child, but couldn't help feeling pitiful. She was part of the Guardians of the Galaxy, and this mere inconvenience had caused more suffering that usual. She felt responsible, of course, but she almost didn't want to tell Peter that she felt this way, in fear that he would agree.

Peter scrunched his eyebrows while his eyes went distant for a second, clearly trying to remember. Finally, after a few awkward moments, he blinked a few times again, and then responded while scratching his head with his opposite hand, "I'm pretty sure I did before we crashed, but if I was thrown around in the _Milano _then there is a chance it fell out. Do you know what it looks like?"

Gamora shook her head.

"It's a little black box with a screen on it and a few switches. If I had it, then it would be in the pile of my stuff that you mentioned earlier."

Gamora nodded and quickly walked over to his small pile of neatly placed things below the coat rack. She rummaged through it rapidly, searching for it like a lost engagement ring.

Finally, after plunging her hands into his coat pockets, she found it in a holster inside the interior of a pocket, well hidden from eyesight and mere searching parties. Smirking at his clever hiding places, she pulled it out and quickly returned to him with it in hand, eager to do something with it.

"Do you see the top buttons that are blue and green? All you have to do is press the blue button, wait for the screen to tell you to press the green one, and then press it."

"Shouldn't I wait until you are better so we can examine the ship?"

"Probably." He paused before asking, "Did you miss me at all?"

The question caught her off guard as she sat down, pocketing the small device for safekeeping.

"You must be joking. Peter, I was going to lose my mind if you didn't remember anything, let alone _wake_ _up_."

"Huh. That's good to know, despite the fact that I was apparently swimming in my own nothingness. I still feel asleep."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that there are still a lot of grey areas in my head. I get you, and other blobs of nothing surrounding you. "

"You don't remember the others." It wasn't a question, and Gamora looked to her left, signaling for the others to come over one at a time. Peter didn't dare look, for he didn't want his brain to explode.

Rocket strode over, and crossed his arms with a large frown. As soon as the quick flashes of memories flew through his head, Peter took one look at him and had half of a mind to throw something at him.

"If you bring any more weapons on board like the knife that stabbed me on its own accord, I'll throw you into space." He growled, glaring at him with clenched fists that were no longer holding Gamora's.

"Hey, you wanted weapons, that was what I smuggled. It's your fault you fell on it, you ass-"

"Will you please just stop? Can't we go one day where the crippled can rest and we can all be friends?" Gamora's glare could have killed Rocket, but he refused to say anymore. Peter's head twitched as he closed his eyes, trying to let his memories settle in. Rocket's annoying tones were soon flooding into his brain, and as he leaned back in his bed, he let them sink in. He saw never-ending images of his tiny tail following his running paws around the ship, next to him in battle, and up some tall figure that he couldn't remember, but was known for only one phrase.

The other were soon sent over, and the process repeated. Peter felt like a supercomputer, and it was almost fun if not for his developing headache. After Groot was presented last, in which Rocket had to stop Groot from shoving his face in Peter's, they finally got a chance to talk as a normal space team.

"So how does if feel to be back in the land of the living?" Rocket asked, sitting on the arm chair's elbow rest. Everyone else stood a good foot away from Peter, giving him space while Gamora leaned on a nearby wall, watching in amusement.

"The land of the living? Is that what this planet is called?" Drax asked with a confused glance.

Everyone ignored him as Peter asked, "Sure, if you enjoy being reminded of what a shithole you've thrown everyone into. I'm sorry; I could have at least steered the ship away or something more useful."

"Peter, you need to stop blaming yourself for this. I already told you it isn't anyone's fault." Gamora commented, speaking up from her wall position.

"Stop being such a sulky pilot man, no one blames you for all of this." Rocket slapped him on the leg.

Peter stared at it for a second, a momentary confusion taking over him. He was confused at his own confusion before he finally realized, "Why doesn't my leg hurt? It was on fire a few hours ago."

"Drugs. This planet has probably more types than most, being weaker humans." Drax answered, noting all of the machines hooked up to his pilot.

"Ah. Wonderful."

"So what is the plan now?" Rocket asked, picking his teeth with his claws.

"The plan is for you to be questioned under our authority." The voice was not of the Guardians, but of Director Fury who had strode in rather rudely with no one else at his side.

Peter nearly developed another headache at the words, but before he could say anything, Gamora spoke with almost as much fury as the director himself, "Are we really going to negotiate this now?"

"Yes. It is a priority of mine to ensure that the world does not comprehend that alien species are currently on this planet, and to ensure that, I need you all to leave as soon as possible," he didn't hesitate as he continued with an authoritative tone, "which means getting your goddamned ship off of New York's central park."

Every one of the Guardians at this point had had enough. They were done with this planet, and they felt like they wanted to leave the the tower and forget everything that had happened. Peter spoke up from his awkward position, raising a hand halfheartedly, "Um, I am here to help if you're not here to blow my baby into kingdom come."

Fury sidestepped in the doorway to clearly see Peter, a deep frown producing an unwelcome expression.

"Hi." Peter grinned slightly, unsure if this man was about to shoot him or not. He trusted his teammates, but in a sch a short period of time, he didn't fully trust the relationship they may have established with these 'Avengers'.

"I am director Fury of SHIELD, here to question you about your ship. I am told that you possess a device that will deactivate your stone-covered ship."

"I do, or did." Peter's headache was still pulsating, and although he was in sweatpants and placed on heavy drugs, he tried to appear more like a leader, or at least sound like one, despite his current physical position.

"What do you mean, you 'did'?"

"I gave it to someone else for the moment when I woke up."

"Can this 'someone else' deactivate so we can examine the damn thing and get it off of our planet?" Fury asked condescendingly, trying to remain calm. He had left the custody of these foreigners with the Avengers, but he wanted to question this pilot for himself; he too, had had enough of aliens, waiting, and not finding any vital answers.

"Why do you want to examine it? I thought you wanted us off the planet, not to pick apart the _Milano_?"

"As part of our protocol, we need to examine it for further scientific developments for future reference, and move it off and out of the park so the people can continue their lives without worrying about a huge chunk of metal in the grass that is habitually used for picnics."

"How do I know you won't keep it from us?" Peter had heard things like this before; other leaders would claim to help them or simply take a look at his ship or belongings, but in the end they would attempt to do everything they could to keep the Guardians from leaving their grasps. He was in the game of negotiation, and his brain struggled slightly to be as proficient at it as he previously had been.

"If we want you off of our planet, I assume that requires a moving space vessel, does it not?" Fury began to shout, and it was making Peter want to throw something at the man. Who was he to come in and scream at Peter when he was just told that everything wasn't necessarily his fault? He hated being injured and at the moment, because he did not feel pain, he had half of a mind to jump out of his bed and demand respect, but his memories of how that worked out last time nearly made his legs twitch in the stinging reminders of how painful that had been.

"Well sure, but if you had jets for your feet like I do, then you could just travel by yourself, so technically no. But for all of us, yes. Tell you what, I'll make you a deal."

"Please." Fury ignored Peter's attempt to lighten the mood.

"Give me time to hang here until I can stand without cursing then I'll leave with my crew and deactivate the ship, but you won't be able to examine it before or during such time while I am here."

"What if it needs to be repaired?"

"Then we'll fix it, but you still can't touch it or probe it with your stick things. You'll break her."

"Somehow I doubt you will be able to just 'fix it'; the thousand pound thing took a pretty hard fall, and based on my third grade education, when things fall from great distances in height, they usually break."

"Well then, there might be a chance that we'll be here a little longer, but it will be even longer if you try to examine it while we work on it."

"Why can't we examine it? Are you hiding malicious information?"

Despite the drugs, Peter's head began to throb harder. "No. I just don't like people touching my stuff. I didn't come here and check out your room, did ?"

"No; you decided to throw yourself into our park instead. How do you know we won't check it out while all of you are detained in the tower?" Fury mentally corrected himself that it was technically Stark's fault, but he was too busy playing the game with Peter.

"Trust me; I'll know. That's ain't no piece of scrap metal. Besides, how can you? It's sealed like a concrete dumpling." Peter countered simply.

Fury continued to frown and he did not flinch. It was almost awkward when he didn't answer, but after a few moments at last, he remarked, "Fine. But your ass better be out there soon or I will find a way to commence the research while you will remain here in our custody and under maximum security."

"Uh...Yeah. Sure." Peter's sudden headache felt as if it was about to rip apart at the seams once more. His answer was produced partly because his headache prevented him from properly distinguishing what Fury had actually said. His sudden attempts to sit straight and engage in political conversation made his head protest more so than his body had earlier.

"Very well." The director nodded curtly to the Guardians, though it made out more of a glare as he turned on his heels and stomped out of the room, trench coat making loud sounds as he left, striding past Gamora.

Peter sat back with a low moaning, closing his eyes under the prolonged stress. He barely recalled what had just happened, and he was sure he would regret it in the near future.

"Are you okay, Peter?" Drax asked, eyeing Peter's scrunched face that was distorted in a slight expression of pain.

"Uh...yeah. I just really enjoy being reminded of what nagging sounds like." Gamora and Rocket chuckled, as Drax still seemed slightly confused as he continued, "We are all glad you are here and in a well enough state. Perhaps it is best for you to rest."

"I am Groot." The massive tree smiled and waved slowly, his leaves swaying slightly upon his shoulders.

"I missed you too, woodbutt." Peter smiled slightly at the tree, eye-lids becoming heavier.

* * *

The bloated sun began to drop from the sky, it's hemisphere dipping away into the horizon as it receded from soaking the city. The city lights popped like popcorn and formed an entire constellation on the ground as the night began to swallow the population.

The Guardians had left Peter after sharing a few words of their gratefulness, despite Rocket's constant insults at how pathetic he looked.

He fell asleep quickly, his mind already rearranging itself with the new information. Fury's voice seemed to leave a putrid tang in the air as they wondered what the plan of action was regarding Thanos and the Nova Prime's dilemmas. Their worry over how to take off from the planet should the _Milano_ be unable to move grew with Fury's words. Gamora was not exhausted, almost unbelievably. She drew new energy from Peter's awakening, her hand still buzzing from her contact with Peter for what seemed like forever.

The darkness from the night sky had soaked the room like oozing sauce. The Guardians were snoozing silently in the corner, Groot providing something of a hammock for Rocket as Drax fell asleep in a chair that was almost too small for him. Groot had latched himself to the walls, sticking like a intricate painted pattern that had exploded in the corner.

Peter had long dozed off shortly after left a few words with him, and Gamora had given him the basic drama for the past few days. "I'm gone for three days and the whole world goes to hell." He had remarked with a frown, clearly unaware how much impact his absence had caused.

Gamora watched him sleep carefully before standing up to look out of the window. She did not feel like sleeping, as if the relief of Peter's awakening soothed her with a new energy. She watched the lights of windows slowly flicker on and off, wondering what Terrans did at night that kept them this energetic at this hour. She watched her fellow crew mates sleep, shaking her head at how crazy the last few days had been. She reflected at how friendly she had become on comparison from when she worked for Thanos. By now, she would have achieved whatever goal it was for her, killed a few here and there, and would probably be on her way back to him, revenge-plotting citizens left in her left-behind path. Exhaling slowly, she turned around to find another nurse messing with something near Peter's head.

She appeared to be startled when Gamora was swiftly at her side, more curious than suspicious.

"How did Peter survive the head injury?" She asked, suddenly aware of how serious it had been. She wondered to herself how Peter could have forgotten, and then able to retrieve it again. She had not learned any such type of education, so she was curious to understand for future reference.

"Well, it's rather simple to explain, but it will always be more complicated." The shy nurse answered, stepping away to write something on a clipboard with a steel pen. She had a SHIELD logo attached to the shoulder of her white coat.

"I'm listening. I want to know if this could happen again."

"It can. If it does, it is not likely he will recover when it does. However, if he his half-human, I'm not entirely sure. We don't have much research regarding half-humans." She joked lightly, offering a smile.

"So it seems." The two backed up towards the doorway, both watching Peter.

"Basically, any brain has signal transmitters that respond and coordinate with each other for daily human activities, and can become damaged from severe impact. If that happens, then the patient is likely to suffer from major loss of memory, a coma, or just experience major thought-processing abilities because those transmitters break, and die inside of the brain."

Gamora thought it over for a few moments before asking, "What exactly is a coma?" She had heard it mentioned earlier, but with those recent events at the time, she had not bothered to ask what it was.

"It's like a long-lasting sleep that the patient may or may never wake up from. Sometimes they are extremely minor, other times, the patient wakes up and they are traumatically damaged in such a way that they are whole new person. It happens more often than one would think."

Gamora could not imagine what would happen if Peter woke up as a different person. She cringed.

"Thank you."

"My pleasure. You can see why the Director wishes to keep him here for further research." The nurse stated quietly, gazing at the clipboard once more, writing something down on a different page.

"What?"Gamora turned on her heels to face the nurse. She furrowed her eyebrows, surprised to hear the news. The nurse's eye widened at the comment, and quickly elaborated.

"You weren't informed of the Director's intent? The science division wishes to study Peter tomorrow and the other foreign alliances as well. It won't be prying, we just want a few DNA samples and want to run a few tests."

Gamora's heart thumped against her chest as she listened. She hated how Peter's name sounded on someone else's lips; from the nurses', it was just an empty name, another thing to deal with.

Gamora almost forgot to keep her voice down as she retorted, "Peter is not an object that can be toyed around with, nor poked or studied like a rat. He does not need to experience that."

"It is of the best interest of SHIELD and the science division to do so, and he won't be kept here under direct enforcement-"

"Enforcement? We made a deal to stay until we could leave, and that was it. No other in-between earmarks were discussed nor agreed upon."

"I don't know what the director agreed to, but he always has ulterior motives. We mean no harm, we have just never encountered anything like this. And we won't do any of this until everyone is awake and nourished."

"I don't care, this is not acceptable, and we will not submit to this." Gamora demanded, staring the opposite woman down, who seemed a little discomfited at the sudden hostility.

"It is not my decision, and I'm afraid if you want to leave peacefully with this planet, then full compliance is expected tomorrow." She advised with little confidence, and suddenly left the room in a hurry, head ducked.

Gamora seethed, and watched her go with hatred. Tomorrow is going to suck, she thought bitterly. When she slumped back in the chair, she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to forsee how the next day would play out, but when she opened them again, daylight was streaming through the room like a river of yellow and orange, and a man she recognized from earlier was standing in the doorway with another man that she recognized all too well at this point.

Bruce Banner was standing, arms folded with a black folder, apparently arguing with Tony Stark.


End file.
